


Lucifer: A Devil's Dilemma

by GkyGrkGrl



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GkyGrkGrl/pseuds/GkyGrkGrl
Summary: Hello!A heartfelt Thank You in advance to anyone deciding to take time out of their busy days to read my work.This is my first time attempting to write and post any kind of fiction, fan fiction or otherwise. I absolutely love the show "Lucifer" on Netflix. Not only did the basic premise draw me in, but the concept of the Devil with an existential identity crisis resonated.I started writing this the summer right after Season 4 dropped on Netflix, and it just kept growing past what I originally intended. This is my version of what happens after the end of the events of Season 4. It's taking longer than expected to wrap up the story (probably because I love playing in this universe and don't want it to end!), so my hope is posting what's already done forces me to finally finish.All the main characters make appearances, from the Devil and Chloe to Amenadiel, Linda and their child to Maze, Dan, Ella and even Eve.I've also added some new characters, a couple that were referenced in the show but not included in the currently streaming seasons, and a few of my own creation.I really hope you enjoy my work (I've certainly had a blast writing it!), and please forgive any creative liberties I've taken with the already established characters!Thank you again!-GkyGrkGrl
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> A heartfelt Thank You in advance to anyone deciding to take time out of their busy days to read my work. 
> 
> This is my first time attempting to write and post any kind of fiction, fan fiction or otherwise. I absolutely love the show "Lucifer" on Netflix. Not only did the basic premise draw me in, but the concept of the Devil with an existential identity crisis resonated.
> 
> I started writing this the summer right after Season 4 dropped on Netflix, and it just kept growing past what I originally intended. This is my version of what happens after the end of the events of Season 4. It's taking longer than expected to wrap up the story (probably because I love playing in this universe and don't want it to end!), so my hope is posting what's already done forces me to finally finish.
> 
> All the main characters make appearances, from the Devil and Chloe to Amenadiel, Linda and their child to Maze, Dan, Ella and even Eve. 
> 
> I've also added some new characters, a couple that were referenced in the show but not included in the currently streaming seasons, and a few of my own creation.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy my work (I've certainly had a blast writing it!), and please forgive any creative liberties I've taken with the already established characters! 
> 
> Thank you again!
> 
> -GkyGrkGrl

“Gaaaahhhh!”

Screams jaggedly rent the ash-peppered endless blackness, kindred spirits to the incessant keening softly wafting through inescapable, diabolical roasting heat that had coated everything in its molten grip since the beginning of time. 

_Hmm_. The tall, dark and tastefully distinguished gentleman of indeterminate age pondered while casually leaning a broad shoulder against a shadowed wall. Wincing a bit, he patiently waited for the ear-splitting, headache-inducing, definitely _not_ harmonious screams to taper off. 

“Aaiiieeeee!!”

Nope, no welcoming silence yet. He calmly adjusted his cuff links, making sure they were _just so_ , slightly visible past the sleeves of his sharp, well-tailored jacket. Another shriek crescendoed, clashing with the lingering notes of the prior untutored vocalization.

Really, those were absolutely bloody murder to anyone with perfect pitch. 

Pondering resumed. Okay, so perhaps _not_ since the beginning of time, but at least since after that deliciously messy bit in the lusciously verdant garden. That fragrant, naively tempting, oh so enticing garden!

Ah, those were the days.

A nostalgic hint of a grin found its way onto well-formed, supple lips at that fond, stirring memory. Deep, darkly magnetic eyes that could unleash your every unknown, unacknowledged desire lightly crinkled along with the grin.

No pesky conscience or betterment to be found. No annoyingly tangled, wildly spiraling self-doubts or self-hatred to be had. Just ever so lovely chaos, devilishly divine destruction and, of course, delightfully sinful pleasure reaped in that well-tended garden. 

A sigh barely made its escape as vivid millennia of memories languidly scrolled along, heedless of the faint tug of longing they dredged from hidden depths.

An elegant eyebrow quirked. Who was he kidding? Not so hidden. Since the dawn of time he gleefully and unabashedly lived, nay, _revelled_ in every tantalizing, ebullient moment life offered. 

He was, after all, the actual Devil.

Another whisper of a sigh found air. Indeed, those were definitely the days.

Some corruption here, bite of a delectable apple there, throw in a teensy little rebellion and, _voila!_ Poofed into an alternative afterlife, courtesy of some Almighty and rather frowny judgment. 

A slight frown of his own creased Lucifer Morningstar’s arched brow as that last nerve-striking recollection took center stage. Getting unceremoniously tossed out of Heaven and into the raging pit that was Hell certainly left a mark. 

Shifting slightly against the rough-hewn wall, an unsettling tendril of, well, _something_ flit through his immortal being.

Dr. Linda wasn’t here so he most assuredly wasn’t going to call it guilt, thank you very much. After all, that was old news now, really. He had moved on, he’d casually boast to anyone listening. Forgiven himself, even. Saved not only himself but the world as well. 

_Annnd you’re welcome_ , Lucifer silently toasted, shaking off that extremely irritating tendril, forcefully shutting down any further momentary self-reflection. He was cured, damn it. No need to poke that perfectly non-fine, non-satisfying, non-fulfilling, non-Detective full eternity in his future.

 _Actually, it was fine_ , he hastily corrected. It was _all_ fine. Yup, absolutely, completely fine. Besides, he had made some rather fiendish changes in Hell. He could proudly toast to those too, damn it.

Sorrowful, pathetic whimpering returned his attention to some of the more obstinate denizens of this said alternative afterlife who, unfortunately, were currently not getting with the brand-spanking, newly instigated program. 

Screams temporarily exhausted - _Thank Dad_ because he was running out of ibuprofen - and their echoes starting to dissipate, his miscreants now merely moaned, rolling around the floor looking for some unmercifully absent reprieve. Teeth gnashed and bodies shook while hands and claws were firmly, unanimously affixed to every misshapen ear in the Dad-awful superheated room.

 _Gnashing teeth? Come on now, that’s a bit much_. Lucifer scoffed, flicking a bit of ash off one stylishly clad shoulder. Ogres, and maybe trolls, gnashed teeth. Although, to be fair, some of his recalcitrant, hellish subjects shudderingly fit that nauseating bill. 

Lucifer pulled a face. It was his fault, really. What did he expect after sneaking those Lord of the Rings manuscripts into the monthly book club rotation? Plus, he never imagined World of Warcraft would be so alluring to demons on Twitch.

In any case, ogres were all the rage now at many demon-thrown end-of-workweek gatherings.

Well, ogres and Darth Vader, of course. Not even all the ever-falling ash particles in all of infinite Hell could match the sheer mind-boggling number of Vader costumes inhabiting literally - _very_ literally - countless hellish closets. 

_Dear Dad, what have I done?_ he thought, cringing slightly at that unexpected development, courtesy of his other brand-spanking, newly instigated programs.

Perhaps both book club _and_ movie night needed some tweaking, Lucifer mulled. Truth be told, there was only so much Vader one could take. Blissfully few Kylo Rens, fortunately.

Emo evil, not so appealing in Hell, apparently. Heh. Who knew? 

_That’s it,_ Lucifer sternly told himself. No more epic fantasies or sprawling galaxy-crossing sagas for his terrifying bunch. It’s all "Downton Abbey" from now on and, well, maybe "Dukes of Hazard”.

After all, how much trouble could _those_ cause?

Lucifer cocked his head, contemplating potential hazards of _waay_ too much plaid, as the faint strains of something else teased his ears.

Now that the vastly annoying echoes of screams were choking on their final embers, a different more hopeful, vibrant tune reasserted itself, floating across the harsh, gray-hued expanse.

Lively melodic notes bounced off pock-marked stone walls, jauntily jangling and twirling along, drowning out the usual ever-present despair. 

_Ah! Lovely_. This was much, much better. Lucifer perked up, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He lightly hummed along with the recognized tune, the long, dexterous fingers of one hand now tapping out a syncopated rhythm against his leg. His feet threatened to twitch, too, eager to join the fun.

 _Whoa now_ , Lucifer cautioned himself, dousing his twitchy feet. He needed to slow his roll a bit.

He was THE King of Hell, Prince of Darkness, Infernal Lord, yadda, yadda, yadda, etcetera, etcetera … and there was a certain step-out-of-line-and-I’ll-gloriously-and-happily-incinerate-you image to maintain in front of his malfeasance loving, currently groveling minions. 

Blasted it, though, who on earth and all the planes of existence could keep still when Beyonce was playing? Single ladies, indeed!

“No more! Please, my lord, make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!” gasped the closest sweat-glistened figure huddling pitifully on the ground in front of him, desperately grasping his perfectly creased black trousers.

Fortunately, the other demonic lumps littered about the uneven, crackled floor were too miserable to accost him as well.

Of course, the said figure was also attempting to rip out its own ears in agony so it made grasping Lucifer’s trousers all the more problematic. That blood was never going to come out.

“Careful there!” Lucifer sputtered as he tried vainly to shake the desperate, cowering demon loose. Image be damned, he loved this suit.

"That’s Armani your grubby little claws are despoiling!” 

The sweaty demon clenched his toothy, char-scarred jaw and doubled down, however, utterly determined to keep possession of said trousers, half ripped ears, blood and all.

Oh, and snot. There were gobs of snot now, too, freely streaming from a stubby, flattened nose.

 _Bloody hell_ , Lucifer grumbled, still trying to pry off the now crying demon. It was Beyonce, for Dad’s sake, not some no-talent hack. What kind of soulless monster doesn’t like Beyonce?? 

Demons, apparently. 

He sighed, now more than a bit exasperated. Peering down at his still demon-laden, now snot-and-blood soaked, formerly perfectly creased trousers, Lucifer just _knew_ he was right.

That blood was _never_ coming out. 

_Bollocks._ This is what he got for trying to bring some cultural appreciation to, well, Hell.

**********

“ _Gack!_ ”

Lucifer swiped at his mouth, spitting out the tasteless ash while weaving through broiling air. He dove slightly and jerked right, narrowly dodging another glob of ash, before reorienting along his intended path.

A never-ending labyrinthian assortment of nearly identical blocky, relentlessly gray, stone-hewed structures of varied heights rapidly blurred beneath him. 

Hell sweet Hell. Or rather, Hell scorching, depressingly monotonous Hell.

 _No more, though_ , Lucifer resolutely promised. Not if he had anything to say about it. And the undisputed, devilishly handsome King of Hell definitely had something to say about it since quashing a disappointingly brief, disgruntled demon uprising upon his return to this Dad-forsaken afterlife.

That was, of course, immediately after he’d quashed _another_ similarly brief, disgruntled demon uprising on Earth. Although, admittedly, he had help for that one. 

Amenadiel, his angelic, straight-and-narrow brother had helped quell the Earth-based demonic dustup. The Silver City’s finest warrior, as he’d no doubt remind everyone whenever possible. Although, Amenadiel now had a half-angel, half-human child, so that should snip his old ego a bit.

Lucifer chortled mid-flight, grinning. He fully planned on enthusiastically lording that over his brother for all eternity now. So much for the straight and narrow. 

Maze had been front and center as well, of course. Ever loyal Mazikeen would have rent him limb from limb if left out of that bloody mess. Lucifer wistfully recalled her demon blades flashing almost as brightly as the bloodlust in her lovely eyes when she was on a tear.

That hellish handmaiden absolutely _lived_ for a blisteringly savage fight. 

Then there was delightfully sumptuous Eve. Ah, his vivacious original sinner! Conscience pecked at him a tad uneasily over that one. He _had_ corrupted her in the garden, after all, back in his Devil-may-care days. _And_ selfishly strung her along on Earth amidst his own duality-induced existential crisis.

Sure, she also made some colossal mistakes. _Outrageously_ colossal mistakes, in fact. But very mortal, easily snuffed out Eve stepped right up, no hesitation, when the going got tough and horrifyingly demon-filled. And she was working it out, making up for those grand missteps, finding herself. He truly wished her well. 

There it was again, that barely there tendril of _something._

_Nope,_ Lucifer shook his head, annoyed. Still not calling it guilt, damn it. He was over that and had the pristine, boil-free pale skin to prove it. Not a red scale in sight. From now on humanity could take responsibility for themselves. Sinning was on _them_ , not him. Period. Full stop. 

Moving on now because if he didn’t, it would lead to the final, most important participant, the Detecti- _No._

He shook his head again, angrily this time. Not going there. Not now. No emotional crisis, please, while winging through tumultuous ash and acrid air. If he hit a building, or Dad forbid, his throne he’d never live it down. And never is an exceeding long time for an immortal. 

_Maybe later,_ he grudgingly allowed. Maybe in group this time. _Hmm._ He’d wait and see.

For now, though, Lucifer firmly tucked that memory away before it morphed into something else entirely.

He could have avoided all this dodging, weaving and potential throne bashing, of course. Simply willed himself to his ultimate destination - celestials did that regularly on unending, non-earthly planes such as Heaven and Hell. How else is one expected to transverse infinity?

Especially if you have to hit the loo in a hurry. _That’s_ a mistake you only make once.

But the sky had beckoned, ash, aridness and all. And it had been a while - thanks to his ginormously symbolic, middle-fingered wing-ectomies aimed straight at dear old Dad - since he allowed himself the exquisite pleasure of flight ruffling his dark, well-coiffed hair. It was still much shorter than Uber, that is if Hell actually had Uber.

Just a few minutes of flight, instead of a split second of will, and he’d be on the other side of forever. 

Lucifer closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, let everything go, and _lived_ the moment.

Felt the intoxicating rush of sweeping air. Experienced every dance of every delicate feather carrying him along swirling currents. Relished the exhilarating feel of looping and spinning in every possible direction. 

Most of his line-toeing angelic brethren wouldn’t willing admit it, even under torture or the deadly threat of hell-forged blades that could effectively wipe celestials from existence. But they all, down to the very last one, absolutely _loved_ to fly. 

It was truly magnificent. It was divinely glorious. It was well-nigh _indescribable_.

And right now …

It was totally humiliating. 

_Dad-damn it,_ Lucifer fumed, gagging again. A thick clot of smoking ash nailed him right the kisser. 

_Amenadiel’s going to find out_ , he grimaced, batting a smoking speck on his lapel. Somehow, his deviously pure brother _always_ found out about these things. Or worse, Castiel. Then it’d be forever immortalized in sphincter-clenching song.

Shuddering at that nightmarish possibility, he whipped out his red pocket square and wiped clear the flaky ash coating his mouth and lashes. 

Fortunately, it looked like flight time was up for now. Pocketing the square, Lucifer squinted, spotting his destination far below.

He swooped low, banking tightly through one of the smaller assortments of soul-packed, ugly gray cells, rattling a few untethered, heavy iron chains as he zipped along the narrow paths.

Lucifer rolled his eyes at the clank of chains. They were technically unnecessary since the cells were all unlocked. It was all just for show. One huge, inescapable, vain-glorious production.

Soul crushing guilt, not gimmicky chains, actually kept the damned locked in their own unforgiving hell loops, tormenting themselves for all eternity. But Dad had certainly gone all out on the morbid, destitute, joy-sucking ambiance when he Almightied this place into existence. 

He marked his landing spot and smoothly alighted along one of the roomier cobblestone paths leading to a newly constructed, much neater, sleeker and altogether not monstrously ugly building. 

Bright light, an oddity in Hell, spilled from the large, sliding-glass front entrance as well as from expansive, floor-to-ceiling windows down the visible side. The roof stabbed forward, coming to triangular point a story above the entrance, then gradually bled into a low-angled roofline down the rest of its length. Except for the glassed, lofted section above the front entry it was just one floor, not towering like its neighbors.

Overall, the building was more mid-century modern and less despair-all-ye-who-enter dungeon than anything else in Hell right now. 

_Damn, I’m good_. Lucifer heartily patted himself on the back for choosing a fairly decent doomed architect for the design job.

Mood now pleasantly improved upon seeing the fruit of one of his labors, the King of Hell furled his pearly white, gently glowing wings, amiably strolling towards the new civic center’s entrance while absently whistling a cheery tune.

Jumbled voices carried through the building as he stepped in, pausing inside the entryway.

 _Sounds like they’ve already started_ , Lucifer noted, dark eyes scanning the long, rectangular room. Haphazard rows of simple wooden benches and folding chairs were liberally peppered with both old and new damned souls. 

Light flickered down on the gathering, courtesy of some skylights and several starburst chandeliers high above. Rectangular wall scones set between windows and linear candelabras fueled the brightness.

A couple sturdy tables were pushed against two of the walls. At the back, on the left side, a wide hallway jutted off the main room, leading to several offices, a recreational room and a few smaller gathering spaces.

A chalkboard hung along the far wall behind the group. “Guilt Be Damned!” scrawled across the top, along with a few pitchforks, a lopsided skull, some stylized flames and-

_Wait. Was that supposed to be his head? With horns??_

He’d never had a horn in his everlasting life! Not even when he went full King-of-Hell-Bow-Down-Before-Me Devil.

 _Really_ , Lucifer huffed. If you were going to use someone’s graven image, get it right, for Hell’s sake.

“So he’s the actual Devil,” a clear, high-pitched voice piped up above the rest, interrupting Lucifer’s miffed artistic critique. It was one of the new souls he'd plucked as soon as they crossed over, before they hit some demon’s torturous daily docket. 

Perched on a folding chair facing the group, Dr. Rachel nodded encouragement to the freckle-faced teenager. Most of the others, clearly having gone through this many times before, either patiently waited or chatted quietly amongst themselves, letting the newbie get it all out.

“So how come he’s British?” the blond, pony-tailed teen pressed, upturned nose now scrunched. "The Devil is supposed to be thousands of years old. Why isn’t he speaking Sumerian?” She paused for a split second. “Or at least Aramaic?”

 _My word_ , Lucifer stifled a chuckle, still observing from the entryway. This one could give even Trixie a run for her money with those pointed questions.

A sudden pang clutched his chest at the thought of that little urchin, so like her mother. 

“And why,” the girl bravely soldiered on, “isn’t he blond? _Tons_ of stories say he's supposed to be blond!” The newbie pony-tailed soul, arms resolutely crossed, sounded truly aggrieved that he wasn’t blond.

 _Oh for Pete’s sake_ , Lucifer groused, eyes rolling. Not this again. Blast it, he _liked_ being tall, darkand handsome. And stylishly well-dressed, of course. Yet humans seemed to have a thing about his hair. 

What the hell was it about his hair? What about the bloody red wings, eh? Nobody seemed to blink at those any longer. Well, he amended, those in group didn’t blink.

In group, blood-red, leathery devil wings apparently rated far, _far_ below the decidedly not-blond conundrum that seemed to vex everyone. 

“Yeah, I’d like to know, too,” a neatly bearded middle-aged, graying man interjected. He was also a newer soul but hadn't spoken up yet since Lucifer yanked him out of his embezzlement-focused hell loop last week to join this potentially disastrous experiment. 

“I mean all we’ve gotten so far is that we’re in Hell, he’s the Devil,” a nervous laugh at that, “and we’re here to work out our guilt issues so we can, uh,” he paused, a frown puckering his olive-skinned brow. “What, exactly, _are_ we doing here?” 

Voices rose as less recent participants, having gone through this reality-bending confusion not too long ago, sang out in eager response.

“To fix Hell!”

“Stop the guilty!”

“Fix our damned loops ‘cuz mine’s totally messed up!”

“Um, diversity training?” 

_Bloody hell_ , Lucifer face-palmed. Hadn’t he gone over this with them, _repeatedly_ , the past few weeks? 

“Storm Heaven! Huzzah!” And the hits kept coming.

“Hey, where are the donuts? Shit, Gerry. Did you eat all the jellies _again?_ "

Although, Lucifer grudgingly admitted as the litany continued, there _was_ a lot of drooling, eye glazing, and sheer terror once the words “Hell" and "the Devil" popped up in his recruitment speech. Truth be told, most of these poor saps hadn’t even realized they were stuck in Hell when he had come calling.

Lucifer absently readjusted a jacket sleeve, rapidly tapping a well-shod toe, thinking.

 _Hmm_. His non-murdery, not-so-nefarious, too-guilty-for-their-own-good bunch might still be too overwhelmed to properly grasp their dire straits. 

“Alright! Alright, everyone!” Dr. Rachel, clad in her customary sky blue power suit, made placating motions with well-manicured hands. Hazel eyes swept the circle, peering over yellow cat-eye glasses. She spotted him in the back and waved, beckoning.

“Why don't we have Lucifer himself answer your questions, shall we?” Dr. Rachel, therapist and tax evader extraordinaire, gestured again, manicured hands calling him forward a bit more urgently. 

Lucifer expelled a quick breath, pleasant mood – _Phfftt!_ \- up in smoke.

Up until now he'd been debating if _perhaps_ he might mention - in an oh-so-casual kind of way - the Detective today. Work out a few things raggedly tromping through his mind and heart. 

Silver-haired Dr. Rachel was no Dr. Linda, of course, but she had all the right credentials back on Earth, aside from illegal tax fraud and hidden offshore accounts. The doctor had jumped at the opportunity to practice again, desperate to escape her agonizing loop.

And beggars in Hell couldn’t be too picky now, could they? 

_Mission statement_ , he swore, picking his way through the packed rows of souls. The next batch of newbies gets a strongly worded mission statement. _With bullet points_ , Lucifer vehemently added, determined not to go through this misery again.

He _ruled_ Hell, he wasn’t supposed to be the one tortured by it, blast it. 

Instead, he now had to recap this bloody experiment to everyone. Again. Explain that their own weighty guilt consigned them to Hell, that therapy is a chance to alleviate said guilt, and that once sufficiently alleviated, Bob’s your uncle, they should pop right out of dreadfully abominable Hell and into safely boring Heaven. 

_What’s not to understand?_ Lucifer grumped, joining Dr. Rachel at the front for what was shaping up to be an extremely long, extremely repetitive, and extremely mind-numbing question-and-answer session. 

Oh, and likely be forced, _once again_ , to explain his hair. Preferably without tearing it out. It was almost enough to make him reach for blond hair dye ... _almost._

At this rate, not a damned soul was _ever_ getting out of Hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Dan sat at his cramped desk under the stairs, head propped on one hand, brooding. Paperwork waited not so patiently under his nose as case files vied for space with his coffee and pudding. The non-toxic kind of pudding, of course. He _definitely_ switched brands after the killer pudding fiasco from a while back.

The usual sounds of routine police work hovered in the background as uniformed officers, plainclothes detectives and other staff purposefully strode about the bustling Los Angeles precinct.

“Espinoza,” a voice barked, shaking Dan from his momentary reverie. He glanced up, catching the lieutenant’s sharp, gray-eyed gaze. The stocky, middle-aged man standing by his desk held a case file in his hands. 

“Hey, Lieutenant.” Dan straightened in his chair. “What’s up?"

The no-nonsense, neatly mustached Lieutenant Matthews had come onboard after the Pierce debacle a year ago and stuck around. With more than twenty-five years on the job, the cardigan preferring veteran typically went by the book but was willing to give you some leeway when needed. The precinct respected him, and so did Dan. 

Dan had worked hard these past years, hoping to re-brand himself and earn back the trust he’d lost when he copped to removing a gun from the evidence locker. He still cringed every time that memory cropped up. Definitely not his finest hour.

“A case just came in and you’re up.” Matthews held out the manila file and Dan took it. “Grab forensics and check it out."

“Thanks, boss. I’ll get right on it,” he said as the lieutenant nodded and turned to head back to his office.

 _Thank god_ , Dan sighed, tossing the file onto his already cluttered desk. Relieved at this break from brooding, Dan leaned back in his chair. He still didn’t know how to help Chloe deal with her hurt and distress.

Despite protests to the contrary, weeks after Lucifer disappeared Dan had noticed she was hung up on that delusional, wannabe devil. Now, almost a year later, he knew Chloe still sported a bone-deep, unhealed wound – she simply disguised better.

When Lucifer went missing, he assumed that aggravatingly charming whack job would eventually show up again, just like every other time. One minute he’s gone, the next - _Wham!_ \- he pops back up with a new wife or wild kidnapping tale, or whateverhappens to be his current delusion. 

But weeks turned into months and all Chloe, clearly grieving, would say is that Lucifer had needed to go home for everyone’s sake. Whatever that meant.

Try as he might even Amenadiel and Linda, who were his friends, couldn’t - or _wouldn’t -_ share any more insights.

And Maze just stared at him, shrugged and said “ _What?_ He’s gone to Hell."

Dan _knew_ they knew something - it was obvious. The sudden topic changes and awkward silences when he probed for information were dead giveaways.

Except for Maze. Last time she just rolled her eyes, casually flipped her blades, and said, “Told you already. Hell. _Jeez_. Get with the program, Dan. Hey, wanna help me roust a biker bar?”

He was Chloe's friend and ex, for crying out loud. Why wasn’t he in the know, too, huh? What could possibly be so secretive that his friends couldn’t share details about his ex-wife’s problems?

It was extremely frustrating, and Dan felt a little helpless and angry at the same time. It was no secret he wasn’t crazy about Lucifer. But Chloe was obviously still broken up over the loss, and Dan was never one for standing around doing nothing. Especially when someone he cared about was hurting. 

But how could he help Chloe if he didn’t even know the real story?

Shaking it off for now, Dan grabbed the new case file from his desk and stood up, stretching a bit. He pocketed his phone and headed off to forensics. He’d circle back to the Chloe dilemma again later.

Right now, a case needed attention.

**********

“ _Wha-??_ ” Dan jerked back, startled. A flying head whooshed past his nose, blood and flecks of pale, gelatinous flesh arcing right behind it. 

“ _Ella! What the hell?!_ ” Blood spattered in every direction.

Vivid scarlet globules smeared the table, floor, windows, window blinds, a couple of stools, overhead lights, some equipment, part of the door, Ella’s formerly white lab coat, and … 

“Oh, that’s just _great,_ ” … now the front of his gray hoodie and favorite sneakers. Dan groaned.

 _Well, that sucks_ , he matter-of-factly noted. He should’ve known better than to just walk into Ella's never-know-when-a-head’s-flying-by domain. 

He flapped the case file in hand, then brushed at the red specks now bedazzling its cover.

 _Nope, totally made it worse_ , Dan sighed. He gave up, tossed the file onto the table, stepped up behind Ella, and tapped her shoulder.

Perpetually cheery, eminently geeky forensic scientist Ella Lopez jumped and spun about, long, dark pony-tail bouncing. A confident hand firmly grasped the hefty, dripping knife pointing directly at his chest. Two smaller, identical edged prongs jutted off the main blade past the bolster.

“ _Whoa!_ ” Dan lurched back, hands up, palms out. “It’s just me, Ella!”

“ _LeghlaHchu’be’chugh min lo’laHbe’ taj jej!_ ” she scowled, harsh guttural sounds emerging from her normally smiling mouth. 

“Oh. Hey, Dan! Didn’t see you there.” Ella set the bloody knife on the plastic-lined table, took out her earbuds and removed her safety glasses. Behind her Dan glimpsed a decapitated ballistics dummy barely hanging on by a thread, oozing fake blood.

 _Poor Dumby_ , Dan sympathized, eyeing the multiple, violent stab wounds. What a way to go. At least it was relatively quick this time, unlike the last dummy. Slinky had bravely drooled out of existence testing out a new accelerant. 

“Working on a case?” Dan nodded toward the severed head now lolling about the dingy floor.

“Oh, that?” Ella casually brushed off Dumby’s unfortunate demise. She waved at the weirdly shaped blade resting on the table. 

“Nah. I’m actually testing out a D’K Tahg for my costume!” Ella enthused, expressive brown eyes beaming.

"See, I wanted it to be as real as possible so, _of course_ , I had to special order the blade. And it finally came in this week! But it was pretty dull so, _obviously_ , I spent all day yesterday making sure I properly sharpened the edges, and _then_ I had to test it to make sure it wor-“ 

“Ella!” Dan broke in, head spinning. 

“Huh?” Ella paused mid-stream.

“I’m sorry, Ella.” Knowing he knew better, Dan girded his mental loins. “What are you talking about?”

Ella blinked. “ComiCon! I’m going as a Klingon this year and I need an authentic weapon. You know, for the costume." She happily bounced on her sneakered toes. “It’s going to look _amazeballs_ on Insta!”

 _Ah_. He should have known.

Gaze narrowed, Dan peered at her more closely. How the heck did she manage that? While he was now very fake-blood splattered, under her open lab coat Ella's yellow T-shirt was annoyingly pristine. Well, aside from the horrified little pizza staring dumfounded at his “Falling to Pieces” pieces. 

“Although,” Ella cocked her head, debating. “I may do a poll instead. You know, one shot in full Klingon gear with the knife and one without it, just to see what my peeps think. But _come on!_ We both _totally know_ everyone’s going to pick the one with the knife! I mean, how could you _not_ , amiright?? Up top!”

Dazed, Dan high-fived her. Why was he here again? Right, new case file.

He took a breath and jumped in. “Ella-“

“OMG! I think I need that bloody head for the knife shot!” Glancing around she spotted Dumby’s head, now dejectedly pooling fake blood.

“There you are. Whew! Dumby, my man, we’re _totally_ going viral!"

“Have you seen Chloe today?” Ella suddenly switched gears, then barreled on. “‘Cuz I hoped she'd take a day at least, but knowing her, that’s not going to happen. You know she rain-checked me _again_ on neon hair day? Can you believe it?! And I _know_ she’d totally rock fuchsia!”

Dan opened his mouth. Nope, she beat him to it, guns still blazing.

“So how’s our personal pet project coming? Anything new on your end?” Ella leaned in, conspiratorially lowering her voice. “You know. Anything new since the last time we tried finding _him?_ ”

Dan didn’t have to speculate on the ‘him' in question. 

Chloe put on a brave face for everyone, especially Trixie. Threw herself into work and soldiered on without her frustrating civilian consultant partner after he mysteriously vanished.

After all, as Chloe herself had said in the past, she had been fine before Lucifer came along and she’d be fine again without him. 

And she was, for the most part. Chloe was smart and strong enough to handle everything thrown her way. But Dan knew her well and despite assurances to the contrary, he saw she struggled. 

Not at her job or with Trixie, of course. But in quiet, alone moments when she didn’t realize anyone was looking. Dan looked, and he noticed. 

Repeated offers to talk politely rebuffed, Dan fell back on what he did best - police work. He was going to track down that irritating, smug bastard and get to the bottom of _whatever_ this disappearing act was if it was the last thing he did, god help him. 

Because Chloe loved that whack job - Dan knew the signs all too well - and he desperately wanted to help her, even if it meant Lucifer coming back into their lives. 

It was also extremely vital he make amends for nearly getting Trixie killed. His heart crashed to a halt every time that panic-inducing thought crossed his mind.

And, yes, Dan reluctantly conceded, he even needed to do it for himself. He had to confront Lucifer and release the weight of his blame and guilt over Charlotte. 

Linda’s therapeutic insights went a long way towards healing his tortured psyche, gently allowing Dan to come to terms with what happened, his feelings and loss, and his confounding, reckless subsequent behavior. 

It wasn’t Lucifer’s fault, or even his own, for Charlotte’s death. And he _had_ come to terms with it. But Dan still needed to look the guy right in the eye and own up to his fair share of mistakes to finally, _truly_ free himself. 

That is, if he could just _find_ that damned devil.

One year. It had been nearly one year, for crying out loud. And not a peep, not a scrap nor a single lousy clue as to where he’d gone. It was like Lucifer no longer existed. 

Dan knew he was good at his job. Very good, in fact. So how was it that one silver-tongued, over-the-top, scene-causing rogue - who, by the way, _loved_ loudly and insistently announcing to one and all that he was The Devil - managed to elude not only law enforcement in Los Angeles but also the whole United States, Interpol and, apparently, the entire _planet?_

He was going to figure this out, damn it. He was. He just needed a fresh perspective, that’s all. Another set of eyes.

“Dan?” Ella’s concerned voice brought him back to the lab. “Dan? Did you hear me? I said I may have a lead on Lucifer!”

**********

“Isn’t that great?” Ella carefully eyed Dan. _Aww._ The poor guy looked shell-shocked. “Looks like you need a hug. One Lopez hug comin’ right up!” She took a step in his direction.

Dan stumbled backwards, warding her off. “Whoa, Ella. Don’t you think I’m covered enough?” He gestured at his now red-speckled hoodie.

“Oh! Of course. You’re right.” _Oops._ She forgot she still wore her generously Pollocked lab coat. Ella aimed a finger at him, tsking. 

“Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily, mister. Lucifer lead, then shower, _then_ hug. Got it?” 

A half grin kicked up Dan’s face. “Got it.” He leaned against a clear spot on the table. "So, what’ve you got?”

Ella loved that. The way he and Chloe went along for the ride when her detecting skills were in driving mode. She was a forensic scientist, not a detective. But those guys - her friends - treated her seriously when she upshifted into speculating on leads, connecting case threads and drawing conclusions.

Actually, the entire precinct was pretty darn good about it when she threw in her two cents, even the no-longer-new lieutenant.

Man, she loved her job!

So when she noticed Dan doing some off-shift digging two months after Lucifer houdinied himself right out of their lives, _of course_ she was going to help. It was a total no-brainer, because that’s what friends do, right? 

_Right_ , a decisive mental nod affirmed. Back to the current lead. _Well, not exactly a lead_ , Ella allowed. Not yet, at any rate.

“Well, it’s not exactly a lead,” Ella hedged, “but I think it’s worth exploring. Especially since we’ve gotten nada, zilch, _bubkis_ in the last eleven months.” 

Dan nodded, listening. “Okay. Go on."

"You know how we’ve pretty much completely exhausted all the normal ways of tracking people down, like retracing steps, credit cards, vehicles, passports, cameras, eyewitnesses,” Ella continued ticking off with her fingers, “known associates, financials, hospitals, morgues, psychiatric wards, and so on. You know, the _usual_.” 

Dan nodded again. Good, he was still onboard her train of thought.

“Okay, stay with me because this part gets a little off the beaten track. You know how Lucifer always insists he’s the Devil, right? And he’s all in, completely invested in that identity.”

She glanced at Dan. This is where it got tricky. Ella didn’t want to lose his interest because she was _absolutely sure_ she was on the right path this time. She just felt it.

"Well, how about we start looking for, say, the more _unusual._ ”

“What do you mean?” Dan cocked his head. “Like other people who think they’re the Devil? We’ve already tried that, Ella."

Ella shook her head. “No, that’s not it. What I mean is why don’t we look for more unexplainable signs, more _supernatural_ instances?”

Dan straightened up, waving a hand. “Come on, Ella. Are you saying you’re now buying Lucifer’s schtick? That he’s the Devil?”

She was losing him. She really needed to sell this hard.

“No. What I’m saying, Dan, is that we look for situations that have _so far_ yielded no known explanations, answers or even motives. Not that they're supernatural happenings, but that might _seem_ supernatural to _us_. Other instances that have no reasonably apparent resolution,” …

Dan opened his mouth. Ella hastily continued.

“… but are just as unlikely as, say, one slightly off-kilter,” _sorry, Lucifer_ , she silently apologized, "method actor slash insanely wealthy nightclub owner completely vanishing with absolutely no prior training in police work, no known criminal past, and no known associations with any agencies or groups that could help him thoroughly disappear.” 

“He keeps insisting he’s the Devil, right? So why don’t we look for things that would be considered otherworldly or unexplainable and see if there’s a connection?” Ella paused for a second.

“Or just flat out weird,” she added, covering her bases.

Ella crossed her fingers, mentally and physically.

Dan ran a hand over his head, tousling his short-cropped dark hair. She watched him mull it over. She really hoped he went for it - this was one-hundred percent the way to go, Ella just _knew_ it.

Shifting his weight, Dan sighed, a hand rubbing his blue eyes.

“We’ve tried everything else, gone through all the right channels.” Was he talking to her or himself? He was murmuring so Ella couldn’t tell. "What’ve we got to lose, right?”

“I must be crazy,” he muttered. She inched forward a tiny bit, holding a bated breath.

“Okay, Ella,” Dan refocused his gaze on her. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“ _Yes!_ ” Ella fist pumped the air, feet doing a little dance. "Dan, this is _it_. I can _feel_ it. This is going to work!”


	3. Chapter 3

“Come on, Charlie. Come on! Let’s see if you can sprout adorable little wings this time!”

Linda put her grocery bags and purse on the steps just inside the front door, crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at the sight of Amenadiel gently hoisting a giggling, one-year-old Charlie above his clean-shaven head. 

“Come on, little warrior angel, let’s fly!” Amenadiel lightly tossed Charlie straight up, nearly grazing the fan.

Linda inhaled sharply, honey-brown eyes wide behind her black-rimmed glasses, white-knuckled hands strangling the railing. 

_It’s okay_ , she reminded herself, slowly releasing that breath, taming her frantically tripping heart as Amenadiel deftly caught their falling son. Joy at watching them play warred with her instinct to charge down the steps, snatch Charlie and give Amenadiel a serious talking to. 

_Pick your battles_ , she admonished herself, easing her death grip then absently smoothing her form-fitting, white wrap dress. She firmly suspected there’d be many others in their future.

Besides, Linda warily reasoned, that toss was still a few inches below the once again bubble-wrapped - _double_ wrapped this time - ceiling fan. She’d save the reprimands for another time.

In any case, it really was okay - at least, that’s what she tried to convince herself - because they recently discovered that, like the rest of his angelic relatives, their happy little half-angel baby was invulnerable. 

Linda still wasn’t sure how she felt about that, if she was completely honest with herself.

It had been a shock a month ago when they realized Charlie couldn’t be hurt. Oh, and that he did, in fact, have wings. _Beautiful_ , tiny, velvety-soft charcoal wings, just like his handsome, ebony father. 

One minute Charlie, looking and acting more like a three-year-old instead of his actual age, was giving his mortal mom a headache by pounding fiercely on a toddler-sized drum set in the living room, the next - _Whoomp!_ \- he’d smashed right into the non-bubble-wrapped ceiling fan, feathers askew. 

_Feathers?!_ Linda had screamed, bringing Amenadiel poofing into the room, wings out, alarmed. She couldn’t even speak, she just pointed up.

Amenadiel glanced up, alarm turning into a brilliant, wide smile.

“Hey! Would you look at that?" he had marveled. “My boy has wings! WINGS! Isn’t it _wonderful?_ ” He grabbed her and twirled her around, laughing, while she nearly had a heart attack. 

Not at the wings, mind you - she had come to grips with the fact that wings might materialize at some point - but at the whole jammed-into-the-ceiling-fan part. Her up-to- _that_ -point greatest fear. 

_Ha! If only!_ Linda snorted at that memory, ruefully shaking her blond head. Hindsight is a total _bitch_ , she decided. 

Amenadiel had rescued a babbling Charlie, who had cried “Again! _Again!_ " by the way, clearly loving this new game. And relief melted Linda when they realized he didn’t have a single bruise or scratch on his perfect, invulnerable body.

Since that feathery mishap Linda anxiously waited for spontaneous little wings at any ill-timed second, most likely heralded by crashing shelves, dashed appliances and - now her _new_ personal, terrifying nightmare - broken windows and a proverbial flown coup. 

How the hell was she supposed to track a _flying_ angel baby??

Loop him on a string, like a balloon? Tag him with a GPS tracker and use an app? Warn all the clueless neighbors that, hey guys, angel baby on the loose so be on the lookout! 

_Could_ you even put out a BOLO on an angel baby? There were sure to be questions.

Half angel or not, Linda was absolutely certain even an advanced one-year-old wasn’t ready for that level of independence - _she_ definitely wasn’t. Fortunately, to her utmost relief and Amenadiel’s barely disguised dismay, the heart attack inducing wings had yet to reappear. 

Just in case, though, the bubble wrap came back out with a vengeance. 

“Mama!” Charlie spotted her at the door, little hands reaching out to her. Amenadiel turned around, grinning when he saw her.

“Linda! Glad you’re back. We were just flying, weren’t we, son? Yes, we were! Oh yes, we were!” he cooed, bouncing Charlie up and down. He glanced back up at her.

“Here, you take him and I’ll bring down those bags,” he offered, walking over for a trade. She gladly took Charlie, stepping down into the warm, inviting living room, while Amenadiel carried the groceries to the kitchen. 

Linda set down a now squirming Charlie, handing him the toy airplane parked on the couch. He immediately started running around the coffee table, whooshing the plane through imagined clouds.

_This is really working_ , she thought, amazed once again at the direction her life had taken after a certain Devil shanghaied a murder investigation that made a pit stop at her door all those years ago. 

Linda smiled, recalling her fascinating, prized patient as she smoothly tucked her skirt under lightly tanned legs and sank down into the couch.

She had a fabulous, absolutely divine partner and support system in Amenadiel, a fearless ass-kicking bestie and babysitter in Maze, and a great friend and celestial confidant in Chloe. And despite their celestial outsiders status, even Dan and Ella were wonderful, loyal friends.

Yet she still missed Lucifer. She missed his friendship, even missed the constant, gallingly misinterpreted therapy sessions. 

What she really missed, though, was a chance for the Devil and Charlie get to know each other. 

The therapist in her hoped Lucifer wasn't spiraling or backsliding into old habits. The friend in her hoped he was doing okay in Hell and found some measure of comfort, if not happiness, in his choice.

“Linda?” Amenadiel called, walking in from the kitchen. “Did you see the price on Charlie’s baby food? Honestly, do we really need organic? He’s already invulnerab-“ He trailed off when saw her.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” He came over and perched on the coffee table in front of her.

“I’m fine, Amenadiel. I was just thinking it would be a shame if Charlie never got to know his favorite uncle.” Linda looked him, eyes questioning, unconsciously toying with the delicate gold necklace at her throat.

“ _Is_ there a chance for Charlie to get to know his favorite uncle? Is there a way?” They hadn’t made significant headway in their search for loopholes, prophecies or anything else that might pave the way for the Devil’s return, but Linda was still optimistic.

Amenadiel looked at her, then at Charlie dive bombing his airplane and making raspberry noises. 

“I don’t know, Linda. Last time I flew to the gate he said he couldn’t leave, even for a short break. That it was too risky.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should have tried harder to convince him to visit.”

Amenadiel took her hand in his. “I even offered to patrol the gate so he could surface for a couple hours. But he refused."

“Can you try again?” Linda pressed, gently squeezing his hand. Somehow, encouraging this relationship became terribly important to her now that Charlie was walking, talking and starting to fly. 

She was also sure a visit would be good for Chloe and Lucifer as well. After all, there are bound to be certain unresolved issues when two beings love each other one minute, then are torn apart the next.

Even if it _was_ to stave off a demon horde. 

“Of course. I’ll try again, Linda,” Amenadiel promised. “I miss him, too.”

**********

Amenadiel hovered by the blasted gate, ghastly heat searing every molecule in his celestial body, heartily wishing he were anywhere but here.

He _violently_ loathed this place.

A few minutes into this visit and he was already par-broiled, bodily liquids practically steaming out of his pores. Even his wings – his gloriously full, powerful, awe-inspiring wings - were drooping dispiritedly.

Heavenly banishment aside, how his devilish brother managed to stand this beastly inferno had him slightly nonplussed.

_A drop of sweat. That’s all I ask_ , Amenadiel reasonably argued, furling his sagging wings. Just a single, miniscule, paradigm-shifting drop of perspiration beading on Lucy’s brow. Then all would once again be right in Creation.

_I mean, come on! How does he never even wrinkle?_ Amenadiel wondered, piqued, swiping at the copious moisture dribbling down his cheeks.

“LUCIFER! I _know_ you know I’m here!” Amenadiel bellowed into the vast, unforgiving void. “Come out, brother! Let’s talk!”

If he were being honest, he was impressed, though. Just a bit. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone, _especially_ not his overly cocky, infernal sibling.

Here he was seriously considering scrapping this attempt and heading home after a few cosmically insignificant minutes while his brother actually dwelled here. True, it was unwillingly, but still an annoyingly impressive feat.

Pride, several promises and the fact that he really did love his brother cemented Amenadiel’s formidable determination.

Well, that and he’d never live it down if Lucy found out the Silver City’s finest warrior turned wing and fled because of a little heat stroke.

_Not a chance_ , Amenadiel snorted, pulling at his sweat-soaked maroon henley. He’d have to stab himself with one of Maze’s hell-forged blades just to escape all the endless, egotistical gloating.

“COME OUT! I need to speak with you, brother!”

_Come on, Lucy. Where are you?_ Amenadiel was starting to worry.

The past few times Lucifer had sensed his approach and been waiting in all his finely tailored glory. Last time he was even casually lighting up a fairly pungent roach. Knowing his top-of-the-line, spare-no-expense brother, it had probably been the really good stuff, too.

Yet today, nothing.

No quippy greeting or pithy observation. No eye-catching pocket square. No sartorial splendor or immaculately styled locks. No barely veiled questions that inevitably circled back to Chloe Decker.

No Lucifer, period.

“ _LUCY!!_ ”

Nothing.

Amenadiel squelched his growing worry and irritation, striving for patience. It was a virtue, after all. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and centered himself, reaching for a soothing, understanding tranquility.

_Much better_ , Amenadiel serenely acknowledged a few minutes later, a peaceful stillness imbuing his celestial being.

He was firstborn, God’s favorite son and a warrior. He would exemplify divine, heavenly traits and calmly, patiently wait.

His brother was bound to show.

**********

Amenadiel stalked back and forth, working up a decidedly not calm head of aggravation. An appallingly wretched hour eked by and still no devilish brother.

If Lucifer deigned to show at this point, Amenadiel was almost certainly going to kill him.

After making sure he was alright, of course.

It was time for Plan B.

Amenadiel blew out an exasperated sigh, bent his sleek head, put his palms together, closed his warm, expresso-colored eyes, and set about praying to the Devil.

There was no way Lucy could avoid hearing a direct, earnest prayer. None of them could.

Generic run-of-the-mill prayers simply sent out to the universe were a constant ultra-low-frequency hum of cosmic background static. All of his angelic brethren – except those tasked with sorting through nonspecific supplications - learned to ignore that white noise early on. However, sincere prayers directed at a particular celestial invariably smashed through that ever-present, jumbled din, easily reaching the named celestial.

Lucy had darn well better be listening because although Amenadiel and other angels were barred from Hell, Maze could freely saunter through the front door. And she’d be extremely irate if he had to fly her down just to haul Lucifer to the ever-swirling gate for a wellness check.

_Huh. Come to think of it, that might actually be worth it_ , Amenadiel speculated, briefly pausing his divine entreaty. Head still bowed, a mischievous grin inched up his cheeks as he envisioned a blade-wielding, blood-lusting, seriously pissed Maze storming Hell.

_Let’s call that Plan C_ , he firmly decided. If Lucifer didn’t swoop in soon, Mazikeen was definitely his next stop.

_Well, well. Speak of the Devil. It’s about time!_ Amenadiel grumbled a few minutes later, feeling the air shift while wrapping up his prayer.

“Well, it’s about time, Lucy! Do you have any idea how _long_ I’ve been waiting?”

“Brother!” Lucifer called, settling in front of him on the graveled, uneven ground.

“What happened?” Bourbon sloshing in a hand-cut crystal glass, he gestured at Amenadiel’s dripping attire. “Materialize in a car wash again? Here to dry out, are we?”

“One tim-Uh, twice, Lucy! That’s only happened twice!” Amenadiel grimaced, silently cursing their annoyingly long angelic memories. “And the second time was _your_ fault, I believe.”

“In any case, don’t try distracting me,” he warned a smirking Lucifer. “What took you so long? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” Lucifer replied after a sip. “Hell and damnation. Drinking,“ a casual salute with his glass, “drugs, and torturing souls. What could be better?”

Amenadiel crossed his arms, biceps strenuously testing his henley, and honed his gaze, raking an appraising eye over his brother.

“Ah.” Amenadiel sagely nodded. “The usual. Right. Of course. So you normally roam about,” a hand wave towards Lucifer feet, “with a purple sock and a red one.“

“What??” Frowning, Lucifer peered at his mismatched extremities.

“And a shirt stained,” Amenadiel continued, stepping forward and pointing at a large blob on Lucifer’s white shirt, “with ketchup,” he cautiously sniffed …

“Hey now,” Lucifer leaned back, fending him off, spilling his drink. “Damn it. Watch the bourbon!”

… “and buffalo sauce, if I’m not mistaken. _Buffalo sauce!_ ”

“Since when do _you_ eat buffalo sauce? From Zany Wings?!” Amenadiel challenged, poking a finger at his wrinkled, ketchup-and-sauce stained chest. “ _Zany Wings!_ ”

“Easy there, brother!” Lucifer swatted his hand away, taking a step to the side. “I’m fine, same as last time. There’s nothing to ruffle your feathers over.”

Something was definitely up with his brother. Linda was right – he should have flown down again sooner. A twinge of guilt laced through him. Time moved differently in Hell, after all.

“Come on, Lucy. You are not fine. I thought we were _past_ the past. You know I’m here for you, brother. You can _talk_ to me,” Amenadiel insisted, placing a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder.

He really hoped Lucifer opened up and actually shared whatever he was going through instead of sidestepping. His complicated brother’s default denial setting often resulted in rather convoluted, grief-inspiring drama.

Not to mention every few millennia the stakes occasionally rose to potentially cosmos-shattering levels. And, although Amenadiel loved and missed his mother, absolutely _nobody_ wanted a repeat of the possibly-exploding-Divine-Goddess crisis.

Once was enough.

_Time off_ , Amenadiel optimistically contemplated. Maybe he just needed some time off again.

“If you need to get away for a short while,” Amenadiel mentally gritted his resolve - he _really_ hated this place - and staunchly pressed on, extending a heartfelt offer once again, “you know I can patrol the gate.”

“Happy to, in fact,” he brightly added, smiling through barely-clenched teeth.

Lucifer grunted, shrugging off his brother’s hand while downing the last dregs of amber liquid. “No, you’re not. You absolutely _hate_ this place almost as much as I do.”

“No, I’m not,” Amenadiel easily agreed. “But I’d willingly do it for you, brother. Surely Hell can spare you for a few hours at least,” Amenadiel urged as Lucifer tossed his empty glass through the turbulent gate at his back and fished out his silver flask.

“You’ve done it before, Lucy. Come on. What harm can a few hours away cause?”

“Linda would love to see you,” Amenadiel continued, “and you should see how Charlie’s grown! _Wings_ , Lucy! He has wings, too! We can teach him to fly together, brother.”

Lucifer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, capped the flask and tucked it back in his jacket. “Is he eighteen yet? If not, not a snowball’s chance in,” a hand swept through sizzling air, “well, you know.”

“And, for the umpteenth time, I _don’t_ need you to patrol for me, I _don’t_ need to see anyone, and I _don’t_ need a break! As I keep telling you, I’m _fine_. Now, can we both go back to where we belong, please?“

Lucifer turned away, unfurling angelic wings. “I’m running dry and feeling parched.”

Frustrated, Amenadiel grabbed his arm. “If this is where you belong, why don’t you whip out your devil wings, brother? Tell me that! And what about Chloe?” he added, earning a swift, cutting glance from his brother.

“Lucy, doesn’t she merit a trip up top and an explanation?”

“ _Bloody hell_ ,” Lucifer muttered. He pulled his arm away and Amenadiel let it go.

“As you seem to have gone daft, Dad help me,” he spun back towards Amenadiel, “I’ll explain it _again_. Using small words.”

“I’m doing this _for_ everyone! For you, Linda, Charlie, even Maze, although I suspect she’d relish the fight. And _yes_! For _Chloe_ and _Trixie_ , and all of humanity.”

Now nose to nose, Amenadiel was _positive_ frantic despair – smothered in a blink - scorched through his brother’s usually enthralling eyes.

“If there’s no _King of Hell_ then demons get antsy! Ergo, as much as I’d love to chuck it all, I _can’t._ I won’t, not this time.” Lucifer again turned to go.

Amenadiel eyed him sadly. “And Chloe? Doesn’t she deserve better?”

Lucifer halted, wings arced for takeoff. “It _is_ better this way. A clean break so she can move on. So we both can.”

Amenadiel solemnly watched him plunge through the spinning, seething gate.

_What’s that phrase humans often use in these situations?_ Amenadiel canted his head, combing his knowledge of human behavior and linguistics for a few seconds.

_Ah! Yes. That’s it._ A bit crude, he allowed, but perfect in this case.

_Horseshit_ , Amenadiel harrumphed.

_Lucy, you are so full of horseshit._ Lucifer was lying to himself again, and Amenadiel fully intended to get to the bottom of it.

_Backup_ , he resolutely determined. He was definitely going to need backup for this one.


	4. Chapter 4

Maze ducked low, barely escaping the whooshing blade slicing through the space where her head had been a split second ago. She spun left, a feral grin lighting up her heart-shaped face, death sparking in her mahogany eyes as she danced back beyond reach of the follow-up slash.

 _Not bad_ , Maze idly mused as she slowly circled her attacker, looking for an opening. Her attacker, surprisingly quicker than expected, was circling as well, also probing for an opening and testing Maze’s guard with a couple feints. 

Not that those rattled her in the slightest, of course.

After all, Mazikeen of the Lilim wasn’t the Devil’s right hand, most brutally efficient torturer in all of Hell, and the absolutely fiercest demonic fighter for nothing. 

They eyed each other, carefully gauging shoulder and hand positions, stances and footwork. They had been at this deadly two-step for a while now, her attacker growing more and more brazen while Maze indolently played. 

Besides, Maze knew it was only a matter of time before she sussed out a crack in her attacker’s defenses. Then she’d strike hard and fast, no warning, deploying moves she hadn’t many opportunities to enjoy recently, thanks to her last few, miserably lacking bounties.

It had been weeks since she luxuriated in a moderately interesting fight. The past several bounties she tracked down had been uneventfully boring, not even having the decency to muster up a token smidgen of resistance. No challenge. 

_Definitely_ no kung fu. 

_Lame_ , Maze grumbled. The last one, a lanky thirty-something who bailed on a weapons charge, even had the audacity to bawl, big fat tears streaming down his long face, when she caught him visiting his granny at her assisted living center. The homeless, fake gun wielding loser took one look at her badass, leather-clad self and rolled over, showing his scrawny belly. 

She bought him dinner and a drink. 

Then showed him how craft a spoon into a weapon. Poor sap was going to need it in the clink. Prison, much like Hell, didn’t suffer the weak.

No mercy - that was for the pathetic. The feeble. The prey.

In Hell, mercy got your steaming blood viciously staining hell-forged blades while you gaped at your own entrails spilling forth, the victor rapturously waiting for your death so they could rip apart and gobble your soulless flesh. And sometimes not waiting - it _was_ Hell, after all.

Maze’s curved, flashing blades had absorbed more demonic blood over countless centuries than most others, earning her place at the top of the hellfire food chain, right below the Devil himself. 

Fast reflexes or not, she certainly wasn’t going to end up gutted by a mere mortal.

Her attacker suddenly jabbed forward, low and fast, right knife hand aiming directly for her middle. But Maze was ready, blocking the jab with her right, countering with a left strike to the kidney.

“Oomph!” Her attacker stumbled, quickly recovered and spun into a circling back-slash before Maze could follow up on the kidney punch. A knife whistled close, nearly grazing her red leather jacket as she pivoted sideways.

 _Not bad at all_ , Maze openly admired. That last jab and follow up spinning back-slash would’ve _almost_ had her – well, had her jacket, at least - if her attacker hadn’t telegraphed the move.

They resumed their wary, guarded circling, once again looking for gaps to exploit.

 _Ah ha! Getting tired, are we?_ Maze’s already feral grin widened further as she readied herself. Her brazen attacker was getting sloppy. Maze noticed a dropped guard a second ago and, as pleasant as it was to actually have a fairly decent fight - even if it was with a human - she had places to be and things to do.

Maze charged without warning, feinted a strike and, when the attacker went to block, she went in close, right into that dropped guard. She grabbed the right wrist, hooked the leg and threw her attacker, following them down and trapping the arms with her knees. 

Victory at hand, Maze gleefully raised her gleaming blade and …

“ _Maze! What are you doing?!_ ” … ruthlessly stabbed down into her squirming attacker.

“Mom!” Trixie happily waved from the red foam mat and jumped up as Maze rolled off her. 

“Did you see that? Did you?” Trixie, dark brown eyes sparkling, vibrated with eagerness and energy, momentary dropped guard forgotten. "I almost had her this time! Didn’t I, Maze?"

“You sure did, Trix,” Maze smiled, hugging her sweaty prized student. “Hey, Chloe.”

“Maze."

 _Uh oh_. Standing inside the front door, steady blue eyes lasered in on the knives in their hands, Chloe had that Look. The one that meant they were going to have a Talk even though Maze was never quite sure why. 

_Damn._ She forgot her earbuds. The tiny ones, easily stuffed under her hair and deep in her ear canals. Maze had a sinking suspicion she was going to need them to get through that upcoming Talk.

Even after all these years among humans, they still bewildered her. No survival skills to speak of, no killer instinct, and no idea of how fragile they really were. How they managed to thrive since God decided he needed a hobby was a total mystery. 

“I did see, Trixie. That was pretty good, kiddo,” Chloe acknowledged as she walked over to them and hugged her almost teenaged daughter. “And I’m happy you’re training with Maze, I truly am, but didn’t we discuss the knives earlier?” 

She shot Maze that Look again. “As in no knives yet?”

“Mooommm!” Trixie rolled her eyes. “I’m totally ready for weapons training. Maze said so.” She glanced hopefully over at Maze, pushing a long brunette lock off her damp forehead.

“Oh, Maze said so, did she? What about Mom and Dad said so?” Chloe sternly countered, arms crossed over her blue work blazer, dark blond hair sleek and caught at her nape in a neat bun. She looked every inch the calm, cool veteran detective. 

And every inch the concerned parent who just realized she’d been thwarted. 

_Humans_ , Maze mentally snorted. She’d built a life here on Earth, forged friendships, carved out a place for herself in this wacky world. But she’d never truly understand them. They blathered endlessly about things like ... _feelings_. 

_Blech!_ Maze nearly retched at the thought, swallowing a tiny bit of nausea. It had taken a while but she only gagged occasionally now, fortunately. 

Feelings aside, how many humans actually knew something useful? Like how to counter twenty armed opponents all at once. Alone. With a spoon.

 _That_ was useful. 

What kind of intelligent species in this universe _didn't_ want their progeny learning basic survival skills?

 _Humph. Not so intelligent_. Maze decided, still totally baffled. By Trixie’s age she’d not only mastered most weapons and martial arts - demon, human and other - but also lost count of her countless kills. 

She noticed Trixie's still hopeful look. Not her kid, of course, but Maze did experience some strangely mushy, gushy and altogether not unpleasant sensations for her friends. 

Years ago she shrugged it off as indigestion. Now, however, Maze recognized it as something completely different. 

Trixie was gazing at her, and now so was Chloe, arms still crossed, a finger tapping against her sleeve. She really should say something. 

“She _is_ getting pretty fast,” Maze gamely interjected. “And she almost had me with a spinning back-slash.” She looked at Trixie. “If that had been a real knife,” she dragged a thumb across her throat, "we’d have to bury my jacket.”

“Really?! Cool!” Trixie excitedly bounced up and down, the rubber knife in her hand jiggling. “See, Mom? I’m ready!”

“We’ll talk about it later. With your dad. Again.” Trixie opened her mouth to protest but Chloe held up a hand, forestalling further arguments. 

“Later. For now, go get showered and dressed. Your dad is taking you to school today. You, however,” she locked eyes on Maze. “We’ll talk about it now.”

“Uh oh. Sorry, Maze,” Trixie apologized, snagging a banana out of the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter and bounding towards the stairs. “See you later!"

“Later, little human,” Maze fondly waved her off. “And watch your guard next time!” she added, calling after the not-so-little-anymore scamp dashing upstairs.

Maze turned back to Chloe, sighing. She wasn’t an expert on humans by any means, even with Linda’s help decoding their strange behaviors, but she somehow knew this was going to be a very _long_ Talk. 

_Damn it_. She _really_ should’ve remembered those wireless earbuds.

**********

The annoyingly persistent yipping wasn’t going anywhere. She tried tuning it out but it just kept getting louder and louder.

 _Great. That’s just GREAT. Can’t a demon fantasize in peace any longer?_ Maze groaned, dropping her head to the slate gray kitchen counter. 

“Maze! Are you even listening to me?”

Her unspeakably beastly daydream involving a hacksaw, some pigeons, a dildo, and french fries abruptly vanished.

Maze raised her head, eyeing Chloe across the counter in the sunlit, airy kitchen.

“No. I stopped listening around when you said ‘Let’s talk’,” she shot back. “I don’t know what the problem is, Chloe. You agreed I could train her after Dromos and his demons attacked. Not just show her some moves on a punching bag, but really train her. That involves weapons, Chloe. You know, those things that may actually save her life against non-humans.”

Chloe went stock-still, staring at her, hands clenching the counter. A moment ticked by. Then another. 

An itchy, uncomfortable thought wormed its way through Maze's conscience. As friends they occasionally argued, but she might have gone too far this time. And maybe, _just maybe_ , she shouldn’t have mentioned other demons. Especially now when a certain unwanted anniversary loomed large. 

“Not that I think they’ll be back or anything,” she hastily added. “Lucifer’s totally got it under control down there. I mean, come on. He’s the Devil.”

 _Yikes_. She was just digging herself in deeper now. Maze wisely shut up and waited.

Chloe was both practical and a realist. Surely she realized you couldn’t train in half measures - it was all or nothing. 

Or else you die.

Chloe broke her stare and sighed, fingers rubbing circles at her temples. 

“Look, Maze. It’s not about the knives,” she admitted. "It’s that you should’ve run it by me first. We talked about this, remember? Dan and I need to be on the same page when it comes to Trixie.” 

She gestured at Maze. “You’re a big part of her life, Maze. And I’m so happy we have you in our corner. I really am. But you need to respect that we’re her parents.”

Chloe continued, "I know this is very different from the little you’ve said about your childhood in Hell, but you do get that, don’t you?"

Maze stayed quiet. Thinking, remembering. 'Very different' was an understatement, to say the least. 

And she _did_ get it. That whole parental thing. Thanks to years of watching Chloe, Dan and Trixie as well as Linda, Amenadiel and Charlie. Thanks to being a part of their lives. She got it even though her own mother hadn’t gotten it.

No one would ever accuse Lilith of being parental. Or around, for that matter.

Maze shifted in her peacock-blue, counter-height chair, clearing her throat. She didn’t do apologies. But she could follow her friend’s wishes moving forward. Besides, she had a similar conversation with Linda last year, and Auntie Maze was still kicking around.

“I hear you, Chloe,” Maze acknowledged with a nod. 

“Thank you, Maze.” 

_Good_. Chloe looked relieved. That was something, at least. When she accidentally slipped and mentioned other demons a few moments ago she wasn’t exactly sure how her friend would react.

“Anyway, I’m guessing Dan is actually the one knife-blocking us, isn’t he?” Maze hazarded a guess.

Leaning back against the sink, Chloe half snorted, half chuckled.

“Let’s just say Dan and I will definitely revisit that discussion.” She paused for second. “I mean, even if Lucifer does have everything under control in Hell right now, that could change, couldn’t it?” 

**********

Standing in her open, homey kitchen, morning light sparkling off multihued blue tiles painting the walls, Chloe heard herself say those words and cringed. She tried keeping that yearning lilt out of her voice – she _really_ did – but failed. Miserably.

She hoped Maze didn’t catch that - the last thing she wanted or needed right now was sympathy. Or pity. 

Pity was _waaay_ worse.

Understanding was good. Empathy, sure. Especially from her friends. But pity? Nope. No thanks.

That just pissed her off.

Chloe paused a moment, cleared her throat and pushed on. Their ongoing research seeking strategies untangling Lucifer’s Heaven-wrought, Hell-bound destiny and bringing him home hadn’t turned up anything promising recently, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t. She had to believe that.

“You know, maybe another little break or even someone else taking over for a bit. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

 _Great_. Now Maze was giving her sad eyes. Or rather, her version of sad eyes which was pretty much the same as her I’m-going-to-kill-you-now eyes.

“Chloe,” Maze started, reaching a hand out.

Chloe stopped her with a gesture, shutting her down, not wanting to hear it. “You know what? It’s okay.”

“I mean, I fell in love with the Devil,” a glancing, incredulous laugh escaped, “so there were bound to be a few issues, right?”

Maze rested her forearms on the counter, hands clasped, and shrewdly eyed her. “Okay. What’s really going on, Chloe?”

 _Whoa_. If Maze – less talk, more bloodshed Maze - was asking her that, man, she must really be in bad shape. Chloe tugged the hem of her blazer, distractedly readjusting it. What _was_ going on with her? She didn’t know.

She did know, however, that the one-year mark was creeping up in a few weeks and they were no further along with a viable solution than eleven months ago.

“Nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Chloe started, then stopped herself. “You know what? _No_. I’m not fine.”

“A year. _One_ year. That’s how long it’s been, and despite all our research we’re no closer to getting him back than we were before.” Arms crossed, she paced back and forth in front of the counter across from Maze, irritation and momentum building with each step.

“Not to mention that _none_ of us had a say in the going-back-to-Hell part of the plan,” Chloe rolled on, unleashing a long denied boiling torrent.

“Doesn’t that make you mad?” She abruptly stopped, both hands slamming down on the counter. Maze was eyeing her warily. Good. That was immeasurable better than sad-slash-I’m-going-to-kill-you eyes.

“You’ve been with Lucifer for I can’t even imagine how long, but aren’t you tired of not having a say? I know he’s done it to you, too.” She threw her arms out. “He’s done it to all of us at one point or another.”

“Made decisions that impact our lives without any discussion from us.” Chloe blew out a breath, momentum suddenly spent.

“He went back to Hell without _you_.”

Maze frowned. _Ouch_. She probably should’ve held that one back. She’d apologize to Maze later but right now the kettle had tipped and everything she’d bottled up heedlessly burst forth. 

“He didn’t even say goodbye to Amenadiel _or_ Linda. And when I told him I loved him and begged him to stay,” she paused, rapidly blinking back a surprise sheen of threatening tears.

“You know what he said? ‘ _Goodbye_ ’, that’s what!”

Still blinking, she saw Maze wince. It suddenly dawned on her that she’d never actually told anyone the specifics of her last time with Lucifer.

Not even Linda knew the all details, just that they’d shared a moment and a kiss, then he flew back to Hell. Because, well, demon hordes.

“Yup. That’s right. I said ‘I love you’ and ‘please stay’ and _he_ said ‘Goodbye’ and flew off! No follow up, no discussion, no where do we go from here, no what does that mean for us. Just flapped off!”

Chloe frowned, a unexpected thought hitting her. “Or down, rather.”

Suddenly curious, she leaned a bit forward over the counter, shooting Maze a quizzical look. “ _Is_ it really down? Do you actually _fly_ underground, or is it more like materializing? Are there tunnels? If it’s underground, is there a ceiling? Do you worry about cave-ins? I mean, how does that work exactly?”

“You know what?” Before Maze could answer Chloe shook her head. Curious or not, the mechanics of traveling to Hell could wait. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

Irritation nipped her again. She leaned both forearms on the counter, head in her hands. “Who _does_ that??”

Maze pushed up from her chair and came around the kitchen island, stopping next to her friend. She leaned a black leather-clad hip against the counter, a hand now easily flipping one of her real, non-fake curved blades pulled from a hidden spot, a sure sign she was annoyed.

Or angry. Or sad. Or bored, happy or even horny, for that matter.

Or just basically breathing. A smile ghosted Chloe’s lips. Maze and blades, like peanut butter and jelly. A very _deadly_ peanut butter and jelly.

“Maze, look, I’m sorry abou-“ The demon cut her off with a quick wave of a hand.

“Don’t worry about it. I get it. I really do,” Maze said. “Him going back to Hell without me? Yeah, I was _seriously_ pissed at first. Like Amenadiel-please-fly-me-down-there-so-I-can-carve-out-his-heart _pissed_.”

“You remember all those cheap, Devil-shaped dolls I kept destroying? I got all stabby with a bunch of them,” she mimed a few wild, manic stabs, “then torched a whole lot of them-“

“Oh yeah,” Chloe interjected, recalling that disturbing incident and subsequently declined insurance claim. “Man, you nearly set Lux on fire.”

“I know, right? I also hammered a ton of them, threw several hundred into a wood chipper,” Maze continued, a dreamy look crossing her face. “Boy, let me tell you. _That_ was satisfying!”

“I also explo-“

“It’s okay, Maze,” Chloe quickly jumped in, cutting her off. “I remember.” Unchecked, that increasingly deranged list would keep them here all week.

“Anyway, my point is I have a life here now. Friends.” Back on track, Maze lightly bumped her with a hip. “My chosen family.”

“So I got over it, _and_ I also get why he did it,” the demon continued. “And I know you do, too. So what’s the real issue, Chloe?”

Chloe straightened up from the counter, turning towards her friend. What _was_ the real issue? Did she even know?

“It’s been so long, Maze,“ she heard herself speaking, not quite sure what she’d say next but somehow knowing the questions were real.

“Even if we uncover a way of bringing him back,” Chloe slowly peeled back the bandaid she’d slapped on, revealing her true fears, “what if he’s moved on and doesn’t want to return? Or what if he comes back but decides to start over somewhere else, with someone else?”

“Angels, demons,” she threw her hands up. “I mean, you guys are immortal. _Immortal!_ Compared to you, what are we? Humans are basically a tiny blip in your existence.”

She paused a long moment, feeling very human and incredibly finite. “What if he’s forgotten us?”

“What if he’s forgotten _me_? And Trixie?”

 _Wow_. This was _so_ not how she wanted to start her Monday morning, but there it was. Her leaky, festering wound for all to see.

Suddenly, Chloe was extremely grateful Dan had already ferried Trixie to school. Trixie’s curious ears didn’t need to overhear her complex feelings regarding Lucifer’s absence.

Somehow, her wise-beyond-her-years daughter dealt with that sudden, unexpected abandonment, coming out on top. She didn’t need the revelation that her mom, the adult, still floundered.

Restless, she grabbed a nearby dish rag and scrubbed a sticky drinking glass ring on the counter.

“That’s not happening, Chloe.” Maze shoved her gleaming blade back in whatever mystery nook it came from and put her hands on Chloe’s shoulders.

Seriously, where the heck did Maze stash that thing? Her clothes were practically painted on.

Chloe made a mental note to ask her about it later.

“Enough with the dish rag and listen to me for a moment.” Chloe stopped scrubbing the counter and regarded her friend.

“Lucifer loves you. You are the first person, other than himself, that he’s ever loved in his _entire_ immortal life,” Maze stared at her intently.

“I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been at Lucifer’s side. So _trust me_ when I say that there is absolutely _zero_ chance he’s going to forget you, Trixie or any of us for that matter.”


	5. Chapter 5

Lucifer groaned, wholeheartedly wishing he could forget everything.

Propped up on an elbow, he blearily yanked at the crimson silk sheet currently snagged on an alarmingly massive heap of drugs camped on a large wooden trunk at the foot of his sleek, low-slung platform bed.

_Blast it_ , he griped, petulant as the pile teetered, tottered and slogged over, kilos upon kilos of forget-everything skittering across the polished obsidian floor.

The hodgepodge of memory-numbing salve slid right into a whopping array of drug paraphernalia liberally spiced with a seductive rainbow of bottles of every unimaginable alcoholic concoction in all of Creation - plus multiple planes of existence and a few alternate realities to boot.

That intoxicating mishmash was topped off by a freakishly creative medley of sex toys cheekily bedecking most of the streamlined, chicly masculine furnishings gracing the antiquities filled, yet somehow tastefully modern, softly lit suite.

Well, it _had_ been tasteful at one point, pre-emotional desolation. Now it had an inflatable bouncy castle.

And a ball pit.

_Heh! Ball pit_ , Lucifer sniggered, senses _almost_ sufficiently addled. What he and droves of drunk-off-their-demonic-and-damned-soul-asses partners did in there shockingly, indisputably and _very_ vigorously exemplified the name.

These days, he morosely reckoned, his formerly tasteful hellish abode was the sex, drugs and booze-soaked junkyard of what was left of his shredded soul.

_Fuck_ , Lucifer cursed, suddenly careening into stark despondency, a hand running roughshod through disheveled, midnight hair.

He couldn’t catch a damn break.

Even currently snockered on a epically cosmic level, he was still much too sober for such maudlin self-reflection.

_Dad-damned celestial metabolism!_ Lucifer sighed heavily, flopping back onto the exquisitely soft, cloud-like bed, arm carelessly thrown over his eyes. Besides, he woozily asserted, that junkyard was his by right, bugger it. He _deserved_ some measure of hedonistic pleasure to drown out soul-searing suffering he, the damned King of Hell, _shouldn’t_ be feeling in the first place.

Restless, Lucifer fluffed a couple downy, crimson pillows, testily shoving them under his head.

_Damn it. This simply won’t do_ , he fretted. This wasn’t the plan. Not by a long shot. His frenemies, clarity and coherent thought, were laboriously clawing back into his no-longer-so-befuddled brain.

He needed more drugs. And alcohol … and a lobotomy.

_Where are those blasted narcotics?!_ He levered back up on his elbows, craning his head, searching.

_Oh. Right. Everywhere_. Lucifer’s drug-seeking gaze absently fell on a particularly strappy getup jammed halfway into a gleaming suit of armor guarding the corner by the door across the Lux-sized room.

_Huh_.

_That one’s on fire. That’s new._

_Wait. That one’s on fire._ Lucifer frowned, scouring memories of the past week’s debauchery and coming up dry.

_Did I do that?_ he mulled, vaguely curious. It was entirely possible. He _was_ the Devil.

_Oh no_. A stray, whispering thought bounced against heretofore empty recollections.

_This could be bad. Very, very BAD_. Lucifer carefully eyed the flaming, barely-there bondage gear stuck in the polished, late fifteenth century armor.

_Hmm_. He didn’t see any ash piles heaped under the melting, goopy mess. Or any flaky particles drizzling from the armor.

Lucifer brightened a bit. That was promising. He really would’ve abhorred accidentally torching a bed partner or five - even demonic ones - in the middle of ‘la petite mort’.

Ultimately, stuck in Hell or not, desire was the Devil’s delightful specialty. He’d positively _detest_ upending a perfect sexual prowess record and millennia-forged reputation over a tiny, itsy-bitsy, barely-worth-mentioning fiery outburst.

Plus, you know. Murder. Not the Devil’s usual style.

Armani. Now _that’s_ the Devil’s usual style.

These days, however, thanks to self-actualization and wildly pinwheeling emotions, accidental incineration – demon, soul, Armani or other - was a distinctly awkward possibility.

_Hmm_ , Lucifer distractedly reflected. He really should talk to Dr. Rachel about that.

And he would, Lucifer assuredly promised himself. He absolutely, without question would … eventually.

After all, the King of Hell moodily surmised, he had the time. Gobs and gobs of it. Eternity, in fact. Right now, however, he craved a blissful, pleasure-wrapped, inebriated, drug-doused, comatose state.

For a least a decade. Or maybe a hundred. _Eh_ , Lucifer shrugged, indifferent, flopping back onto the appropriately king-sized bed. _I’ll wing it_.

Clacking footsteps interrupted his gloomy rumination, stopping outside his chambers. A booming knock echoed, then ornate, oil-rubbed bronze door handles started turning.

_Bloody hell_ , Lucifer groused, sitting up, silk sheets sliding. He really wasn’t in the mood to be disturbed.

“My lord, are you here?” a croaking voice called as its owner flung open the huge, intricately carved mahogany double-doors and stepped inside. “The cleaning crew said you haven’t let them in over a mon-“

“ _Sod off!_ ” Lucifer exclaimed, exasperated. Fiery, unbidden sparks flared in his eyes, freezing the demon in its tracks. “Oh. It’s you, Gally.”

His diminutive, gargoyle-ish secretary gulped, shifting from taloned foot to taloned foot, tragically crushing a few innocent cock rings strewn by the door. No, wait. That wasn’t right. Lucifer racked his rapidly defogging brain.

_Executive assistant_. _That’s it_ , he triumphantly recalled, then remembered he didn’t actually care. Gally always sniffed, loftily correcting anyone who dared call him a secretary.

Lucifer watched Gally dart a wary glance to his left at the still blazing bondage-and-armor disaster.

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Lucifer muttered, quenching his hellfire eyes, a slight hand wave extinguishing the rubbery mishap. His post-drug-and-alcohol-fueled haze – _Phfftt!_ – officially evaporated. “I’m not going to kill you. Barging in isn’t an incinerating offense, you know.”

He meant it as a joke.

His assistant, however, stayed rooted to the spot.

“Heh heh,” the demon chuckled mirthlessly, a nervous, gnarly gray finger tugging the button-down collar of his purple, long-sleeved shirt. Crisp beige khakis completed his business casual attire. A sheaf of parchments were clutched in his other claw-like hand. “Yes, my lord. Of course.”

“Well? Spit it out, man, come on!” Why Gally still insisted on parchments, papyrus, wax tablets, legal pads, pencil, pen, quills, stylus, and occasionally crayons was beyond him.

Thanks to his angelic mojo for getting anything started - from libidos and classic cars to roombas and vibrators – and a highly streaming-and-gaming motivated corps of doomed hackers, Hell had state-of-the-art desktops, laptops, tablets, servers, Bluetooth, Wi-Fi, hellphones, satellite uplinks, automatic AshCloud backups, multifactor authentication protocols, NSA-level encryption, and, of course, high-satanic-speed – or HSS - internet.

_Damn, I really am good_ , Lucifer preened a bit. Residing in Hell didn’t mean they had to live like heathens, after all.

Penchant for all things written aside, as far as demons went Galliphrone wasn’t a bad sort. A diehard bureaucrat at soulless heart, he preferred order, numbers and stamping papers instead of heads.

He’d been Lucifer’s stubbornly loyal executive assistant for several decades now, ever since the King of Hell saved his vertically challenged derriere from a fate worse than any conceivable hell-spawned death … the manual unclogging of demonically plugged sewage pipes.

Face first.

Lucifer grimaced, inadvertently flinching at the memory. Truly tragic, that day.

He’d hauled a dung-drenched Gally away from that demonic hazing, then gleefully punished the fiendish bullies themselves.

Well, _after_ a good laugh. It had been pretty funny, actually.

Then, quite mournfully, he vaporized an unsalvageable, formerly non-splattered, perfectly lovely Tom Ford two-button, single-breasted, silk and linen blend navy suit.

Still, it hadn’t been a complete loss, Lucifer absently reminisced. Despite the bespoke carnage, he _did_ manage to save the rather daring grey, purple and green tartan-inspired pocket square.

And the clip of Gally stopping up that disgusting pipe, feet flailing, still popped up in the top one-hundred funniest Hell videos of all time on vilevids.hel.

He should know – after all, he posted it.

“Ahem, yes,” the demon cleared his raspy throat, glancing at his parchments. He fished in his shirt pocket, pulled out a pair of wire-rimmed, round glasses and settled them on his aquiline nose.

“The cleaning crew is a trifle worried that the horrid mes-uh, completely acceptable state of mild disarray in here,” Gally glanced around the room, eyes widening as he digested the actual magnitude of the surrounding chaos, “will reflect poorly on their bonuses this month, my lord.”

“Not to mention,” he continued, visibly relaxing as he warmed to his task, “the Intake team is up in arms over a rather large number of new souls you’ve absconded with lately before they’ve been properly processed and coded into the system.”

“Yes, well they don’t-“ Lucifer started. He didn’t get far. His assistant finally had his ear and steadfastly refused to give it up.

“Several construction crews in the probation and community service sectors,” Gally steamrolled on, scanning down the list, “are reporting handfuls of missing workers and no one seems to know where they’ve slinked off to.”

Mild pounding set up shop, incessantly tapping Lucifer’s skull. Wearily, he rubbed his forehead. Gally, oblivious, prattled on.

“Approximately five dozen hell beasts escaped their corral in sector 1701, completely demolishing the Manslaughter and Mayhem Mediation Spa.”

“Incidentally,” he flipped the current page, “the owners are demanding restitution in blood rites, marinated intestines, gold doubloons, and at least a century’s worth of cheddar bay biscuits.”

Pausing, he looked up. “You know. From Red Lobster?”

“Yes, I _know!_ ” Lucifer huffed. “But wha-“

“Good,” Gally officiously continued, refocusing on the parchments. Apparently, his fear of being flambeed had completely vanished.

“An Infernal Hand patrol unit noticed some energy undulations near the Gate, about 66 kilometers off the X-axis, 327 off the Y and 501 off the Z. They observed for a few days but nothing unusual happened, so they logged it and moved on.” He shuffled the sheets. “I thought it merited a mention.”

The pounding mushroomed. A vein in Lucifer’s temple pulsed.

“Representatives from several thousand ‘Downton Abbey’ fan clubs are clamoring for the new movie release to mimic real-Earth time, hoping to avoid human soul spoilers.”

_Damn it_. Lucifer _knew_ team building TV nights would somehow eventually bite him in the ass.

“And,” Gally plowed on, showing no signs of stopping, “the IT department absolutely _insists_ on written instead of verbal directives before they’ll modify HLSFIRE.”

He paused again, peering over his glasses at Lucifer’s blank look.

_What the Me?_ Mystified, Lucifer had absolutely no clue what the demon was going on about.

“You know. HLSFIRE?” 

“Right. You _do_ realize simply repeating what I didn’t know in the first place doesn’t help, _hmm?_ ” Lucifer helpfully pointed out, rubbing his pulsing temples.

“It stands for-“

Lucifer held up a hand. “Hang on a minute.”

Grunting, he flung aside silken sheets and clamored out of bed, naked. A languid stretch rippled his tall, powerful, well-defined frame. He strode towards an exceptionally toxic, glowing heap of bottles near the towering, lustrous koa wood wardrobe off to the right along the far wall.

“See anything you like?” he lazily tossed over a strong shoulder. “You know, there’s always room for one more on Sleazy Sundays.”

Gally just harrumphed, frowning as he thumbed through several sheets of parchment. No doubt uncovering other ways to torture me, Lucifer sourly griped.

_Bugger_. He _really_ couldn’t catch a damn break today.

If he had to endure this boring, Dad-awful, migraine-spawning droning, he required serious reinforcements. Lots and lots of reinforcements.

_Hellooo, reinforcements!_ Lucifer grabbed the nearest crystal tumbler off a small, round, marble-topped table beside the wardrobe. Snagging an eye-searing, lime green-filled decanter off the floor, he poured a glass.

Downing it in a single gulp, he poured another. Then another. Then three more.

_Thank you, Earth … uh. Hmm_. Well, he wasn’t sure which alternate Earth this batch came from but the burn was smooth and a faint, deliciously returning buzz skimmed the edges of awareness.

Temporarily fortified, Lucifer turned towards his assistant, gesturing him to continue amid neon sip.

Gally expelled a put-upon sigh. “HLSFIRE. No? Still nothing?“ An eyeroll joined another sigh. “The Hell Loop Soul Flaying Infernal Repeating Equipment.”

“It has an _acronym??_ When did _that_ happen?! And what’s wrong with just ‘Hell Loop’?” A bit flummoxed, Lucifer seriously wondered what else he missed while under a not-nearly-long-enough sex, drugs and alcohol induced, accidentally intentional staycation-slash-Hell-bound sabbatical.

And why he even bothered coming up for air, for that matter.

“IT felt ‘Hell Loop’ was too simplistic for its purpose,” his assistant shrugged. “Plus, it didn’t carry enough gravitas with the Case Management and Retention teams.”

“At any rate, IT wants _written_ confirmation of your directive to incrementally tweak the loops of souls in therapy to match their progress,” Gally explained, holding up a densely inked sheet of parchment.

“Right, right. Of course,” Lucifer distractedly nodded, shocked, as a bolt of satisfaction, salted with a healthy dose of pride, unexpectedly speared his angelic being.

_Well, I’ll be damned_ , he mused, astonished. Apparently, total emotional annihilation aside, he still cared very much about his prized pet project.

Despite triggering his current bout of self-destruction, Lucifer was genuinely, sinfully proud of the success stories from various therapy groups he’d established throughout Hell.

It had taken decades of intense sessions but, _finally_ , roughly a Hell-year ago some poor souls were suddenly, incredibly, no longer damned.

It was a sight to behold, blast it.

One minute a soul was there, the next – _Poof!_ – gone in a dazzling burst of divine, ethereal light. A faint, intangible whiff of utter peace and extraordinary joy the only sign of their former presence.

Lucifer happened to be there the first time it happened, fittingly, right in Dr. Rachel’s original therapy group.

It had been a dour, middle-aged male soul’s turn to talk when, out of the blue, the blond, freckled-faced teen – Maddy, he fondly recalled - next to him began lightly glowing a soft, opalescent hue. The next second – _Bam!_ – a brilliant flash, leaving them with one less soul and everyone agog.

A thunderstruck pause later the group jubilantly erupted, cheers and tears all around. Lucifer had danced, exulted and celebrated with the rest. Then as the initial euphoria wound down he winged back to his suite, and promptly got as thoroughly smashed as a celestial possibly could.

And he’d diligently worked stayed that way ever since. Until now.

Indignant demonic grumbling ripped through Hell at that first-ever soul-seceding occurrence. However, once his subjects realized the steady stream of incoming guilty souls remained largely uninterrupted, they settled down.

Well, most of them, at any rate.

Some enterprising demons in Marketing even launched a huge, immensely popular betting pool on how long before any of those newly saved souls got themselves booted from Heaven.

Lucifer put himself down for two Earth years, tops. Really, it never hurt to hedge your bets.

“So, basically, IT’s covering their collective asses in case the modifications don’t work as intended,” Lucifer accurately deduced. Despite his monumental efforts, he was up and miserably coherent – may as well sign a few parchments before going back under.

“Come on, hand it over.” Holding out a hand, he waggled his fingers. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got,” a quick peek at the scattered legion of narcotics coating his floor, “ _at least_ 250 kilos to snort through before tomorrow’s delivery.”

His wrinkled, bespectacled assistant, however, hesitated.

“Chop, chop! I haven’t got all day.”

“My lord,” Gally slowly began, pulling off his glasses. “Far be it from me to come between you and a deteriorating nasal cavity, but maybe you’d like to clean up a bit?”

“Perhaps,” trepidation flecked that gravelly voice, “even, ahem, rise from the ashes, so to speak?” Coal-black eyes hit him with a disconcertingly familiar look he hadn’t seen in ages.

Lucifer froze. Time blurred and seemingly jumped, faces melding into one another. A look he hadn’t seen …

Since Mazikeen had lethally prowled as his right hand, executing his will while watching his back. There was Dr. Linda, encouraging his breakthroughs, calmly tolerating even the most mercurial outbursts. And his brother, Amenadiel, who patiently, steadfastly stood by him despite many needlessly cruel attempts to drive him away. Then the Detectiv–

_No_. Then _Chloe_ helped him back from a monstrous brink and told him she loved him.

Lucifer blinked, and a dedicated, concerned assistant shifted back into focus.

_Shit,_ he succinctly summed up.

He really didn’t need this right now, or ever for that matter. Lucifer grimly tried warding off familiar stirrings of grossly unwelcome, ardently true, insidiously entrenched feelings of what he had lost.

Thanks to years with Dr. Linda, and now decades with Dr. Rachel, part of him fully recognized he was in full-blown crisis. Despairing that, thanks to his brilliantly conceived – if he did say so himself - therapy programs, his hand-plucked suffering souls had chances he never would.

The _other_ part of him, well, it also recognized the crisis but, quite frankly, was happily all for relentlessly self-medicating.

Except, blast it, now even that no longer seemed to work. He was coming up for air, randomly igniting at annoyingly inconvenient times, and his thoughts turning to his friends, his brethren, the Detective – _always_ the Detective - more and more frequently.

_Is this it? Is this all there is for me in all of your Creation, Dad?_ Lucifer railed, anguish and bubbling anger at the unfairness of it all spiking, ratcheting higher and higher until they wobbled perilously at the brink of no return.

Damn it, he was doing everything _right._ He’d voluntarily returned to rule this Dad-forsaken pit for everyone’s safety. He created betterment and career counseling opportunities for Hell’s fiendish residents, hopefully offsetting future demonic uprisings. And he set up therapy programs aimed at giving deserving souls a second chance.

For all intents and purposes, he should be giddily exuberant, not mucking about knee-deep in misery.

_This won’t do. Not at all._ In an abrupt flash, the wobble infinitesimally shifted …

And all Hell quietly broke loose.

Lucifer silently hurtled pell-mell towards a single, sharply tipped conclusion, crystal tumbler cracking in his tightening grip, blood red glowing in his eyes. The superheated air around him shimmered, crackling with highly charged expectancy.

The Devil had changed.

And he’d had _enough_.

“The troops would be grateful for your burning, magnificent presence. Maybe you could come out and address everyone for, say, an hour or so? Not to mention, the cleaning crew is _really_ angling for those bonuses.”

Microbursts of clarity and teasing, elusive insight sprouted, shooting flickering sparks across Lucifer’s bare skin. Turbulent emotions swirled to a head, quickly kindling those sparks into lashing flames sinuously curling up his body.

Gally, blissfully unaware of the brewing maelstrom percolating in Lucifer’s celestial being, had turned towards the suite’s door. He waved a clawed hand towards opening. “I can call them in immediately, if you’d like.”

“ _Enough!”_ Lucifer thundered, now a blazing tempest of riotous, unearthly fire. Burning blues and greens dappled along with slashing, searing reds, oranges, yellows, and everything in between.

“Certainly, most splendid of lords. Holding off on the cleaning crew.” Used to random outbursts, his assistant blithely continued, pivoting back towards him.

“Ah,” Gally, eyes bugging, finally caught sight of the roughly Lucifer-shaped flaming vortex that had been his king.

He sensibly edged towards the door.

A slew of livid sparks showered nearby piles of half-drunk libations, setting mini blazes roaring throughout the suite. On the left, past the miraculously untouched bed, aggressive sprouting flames thirstily devoured a drizzle of alcohol, that weaving trail dripping right into …

_Uh oh_ , Lucifer started raising a hand …

_FOOM!_

_Annnd there goes the ball pit_. A truly horrid stench permeated the room as Lucifer eyed the now burning pit. That was going to take forever to restock.

“Nevermind, my lord,” Gally edged faster, scrambling talons heedlessly pulverizing several shot glasses, a couple nipple clamps, a lovely Macallan 1926 scotch, and …

_Oh no_. Amidst torrid flames, Lucifer gasped. “Wait!”

… a plastic baggie loaded with the last bit of some delightfully transcendent ecstasy.

Too late. Lucifer winced hard at the crunching sounds as his stalwart assistant gave up on edging and flat out bolted for the exit.

_Bollocks._ That had been the really good stuff, too.

Inside his whirling dervish of divinely incandescent fire, Lucifer sighed.

He _really_ couldn’t catch a damn break.

**********

Pitiless, hateful, hazel eyes squinted in a shadowed alcove further down the sconce-lit stone hall, intently tracking Galliphrone’s hasty, talon-clacking retreat from the king’s chambers.

A sharp nose sniffed the heated air. Judging by the whiff of celestial power, their misbegotten, useless king was probably on fire again.

_I’m Lucifer Morningstar, oh woe is me!_ Squee snorted. The rangy, strapping demon shook his head derisively. What a waste of divine might. If he had their damned king’s celestial abilities, Hell would be a vastly different place. More like the old days - definitely all woe and absolutely no me.

Because right now, it all seemed to be about the ‘me’.

Souls working on themselves, getting second chances. Demons with downtime, hobbies, gaming e-leagues, and debates on the merits of indie flicks versus comic book films. A pathetic king completely wrapped up in himself.

A thin, shapely lip curled into a scornful sneer. What a waste of Hell.

It wasn’t always like this. Early on, in the good old days, Hell was utterly, diabolically _marvelous_. Truly a demonic home to be proud of. The fire and brimstone deliciousness and exquisite torture that a never-ending influx of damned preachers constantly raged about to their sheep.

In that dark niche, Squee shoved his hands into black jeans and leaned against the uneven stone wall, crossing one black, steel-toed boot over the other. Slashing russet brows knit together in annoyance as unbidden memories bubbled up, harkening back those glory days.

The Devil was genuinely a king to behold those early centuries, he grudgingly admitted. Sheer fury and pure devastation. The unparalleled variety of creative ways he tortured the guilty had been absolute brilliance.

Squee idolized the Devil back then, soaking in his tortuous methods and chaos-sowing stratagems, eagerly courting favor. Truth be told, he had actually been a bit of a suck-up, earning vicious disdain from a number of his brethren. Squee hadn’t cared. He was learning from the best, even if the Devil rarely gave him the time of day.

For innumerable millennia, all was right in their demonic existence. Squee put his dastardly skills and knowledge to literal gut-wrenching use, steadily, discreetly slinking up the hellish food chain, millimeter by precious millimeter. Eventually, when the time was right, he’d even challenge and kill Mazikeen for her vaunted, highly coveted spot as the Devil’s right hand.

No rush, though. With eternity, he could afford patience.

Then it all went rotten, and not in a good way, thanks to a little, seemingly innocuous Los Angeles vacation.

_So naïve_ , Squee scowled, uncrossing a booted foot and kicking a dislodged scrap of mortar on the volcanic glass floor, rage and shame chafing his memories.

When he, Dromos and their squad of demons returned from their failed earthly escapade, Dromos immediately set upon recruiting more demons to his cause. Due to the discrepancy between Hell time and Earth time, they figured it would be two, maybe three days, tops, before the Devil returned, giving them time to plot a coup.

Dromos had been recklessly adamant, demonic ego mangled by his thwarted plan to install a sniveling half angel, half human infant on Hell’s throne. Now was the ideal time to strike, he had goaded their new recruits. The king wouldn’t expect another assault so soon, and with their swelling numbers, well … Lucifer was only one misplaced angel, after all.

And in Hell, in their own demonic bodies, they had superior strength and access to hell-forged blades. Those blades and their new numbers, Dromos insisted, would be game-changers.

Dromos had been so very, very _wrong_.

Barely two Hell-days later Lucifer swooped back, took one look at their impetuously gathered ranks, zapped into full King of Hell complete with nightmarish complexion and dread-inspiring wings, and casually disintegrated Dromos on the spot with a fiery wave.

“Anyone else?” the Devil had queried in an utterly glacial, dangerously bored tone.

And that was that.

In that brief moment, Squee excitedly thrilled that their king was back in hellish form. That was thrice he’d killed someone now. Surely that meant something! Surely now Lucifer would rebuild the terrorizing Hell of old.

A couple maddening decades later and Squee was forced to face the horrifying truth – the Devil had fundamentally changed, and not for the demonic better. Now, Lucifer seemed to only torture himself.

Bitter, acid disappointment drenched Squee’s soulless being at that revelation, unbridled feelings of abandonment gradually ripening into pure hatred.

_Weak!_ From his shadowed spot, Squee turned his human-looking head and spat towards the Devil’s chambers, a stray coppery lock escaping its side-sweep, spilling over angry eyes. Dromos had been right - their king had gone soft and weak.

Hell didn’t suffer the weak. A harsh smile cracked the attractive demon’s angular, lightly bronzed face.

The Devil had ruined Hell.

The Devil had to pay.

Hell would never return to its former glory, not unless something was done. And soon, before the critical juncture when his brethren grew too complacent with their triple foam lattes, hellphones, therapy sessions, and fan clubs.

Squee began to plot. It had taken a while and several false starts before stumbling upon something viable, something that would not only viciously hurt Lucifer, but also force a deadly confrontation that might actually wipe him from Hell’s playing field.

And maybe, _just maybe_ , also physically wipe the Devil from existence.

Squee cautiously poked his head out from the recessed nook, checking the wide hall for unexpected passersby. Seeing no one, he stepped out, turned left and hurried through twisting hallways towards the fortress’s exit.

Thanks to Galliphrone shooing off the waiting cleaning crew after bursting from the Devil’s chambers, Squee headed towards his clandestine rendezvous empty-handed.

_No matter_ , he decided. Although the mutinous, deceitful plan was nearly in play, there was still plenty of time before the endgame. More than enough time for other attempts at swiping a necessary component.

For now, Squee quickened his pace, keeping a watchful eye out for other demons. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen in the king’s section of the fortress by any annoyingly chipper Devil’s advocates.

_Fools_ , Squee dourly lamented with a rearward glance, making sure no one followed. Stepping fast and light with the balls of his booted feet, he was making good time.

A few minutes later, the tantalizing scent of broiled hell beast wafted as he neared a usually busier crisscrossing network of halls. This section housed many of the fortress’s daily operations and administrative offices so stealth was crucial.

Slowing, he hunkered down, carefully easing past double swinging doors leading to the king’s buzzing personal kitchen. Despite today’s failure, he’d timed the operation perfectly so this route was currently demon free.

Safely past the danger as planned, Squee straightened then sped up again, relieved and eager to reach his secretive engagement.

_That’s what they are. Total fools! Nauseating, upbeat, weak-stomached, torture-porn hating Devil’s advocates_ , he continued, muttering contemptuously as he rounded a corner. Chipper, gullible idiots that blithely swallowed the king’s game pla-

“ _Oof!_ ” Squee flew back against the stone wall, lovely, well-deserved rant derailed. Béarnaise sauce coated his black T-shirt as a heavily laden gold tray clattered to the floor, spilling succulently prepared tidbits.

“Hey!” A hapless demonic kitchen staffer sprawled on the ground, his red skull emblazoned white apron twisted backwards, glazed vegetables dressing his silvery mauve, mop-top hair. A dripping hunk of roasted hell beast clung to his left cheek.

_FUCK!_ _How is this happening?!_ Squee growled in frustration, shaking sauce from his T-shirt. He couldn’t afford being recognized. Not now, not when they were so close to success. Maybe this was a demon he didn’t know.

“Watch where you’re going!” The purple-tinged demon squinted up, swatting the meat from his face. “Squee? What are you doing here? Aren’t you ban- _Urg!_ ”

The wiry shorter demon desperately clawed at the iron-gripped hands suddenly wrapped tightly around his throat, wildly bucking and shimmying for his soulless life. Hairy, sandaled feet flayed, scattering well-seasoned beast and vegetables across the hallway, unable to gain leverage on the now sauce-slicked floor.

After a tense, nerve-wracking moment, the frenzied movements slowed, gradually dwindling to an inevitable, fatal stop as Squee’s hands and legs tightened further, cracking the unlucky demon’s throat and ribs.

Glassy, coal-black eyes stared sightless as Squee sat back, wiped his sweating brow and contemplated his next move. Rapidly scanning the area, he listened intently for any additional footfalls on adjoining hallways.

Hearing nothing, he stood up, grasped the dead demon’s leg and dragged him a stone throw down the hall to one of the many garbage chutes dotting the walls at one-hundred meter intervals.

_Perfect_. Leading straight to the eternally fiery, molten, churning bowls of Hell, the chutes were perfect disposal tools, incinerating absolutely everything well before ever reaching the actual superheated flames miles below.

Squee grimly twisted the bronze handle, pulling open the heavy three-foot by three-foot door. Gasping, he sagged to his knees, lungs on fire as an explosive whoosh of primal, red-hot heat nearly floored him, scorching the tips of his hair.

Demonic heat tolerance aside, virtually _no one_ could stand the very heart of Hell itself.

Cursing, he braced against the wall and pushed to his feet. Now sweating profusely, Squee hauled up the corpse. Right before shoving the dead demon into the opening, he paused a few seconds, then let it slide back to the floor.

_No sense in letting good food go to waste_. Ignoring his still burning lungs Squee knelt, pulled off the body’s apron and white, short-sleeve polo, then yanked a double-edged bowie knife from its sheath in his boot. _After all, it was a fair kill_ , he argued, nodding to himself.

_Even better_ , he decided, as he sliced a thick slab off the ribs and popped a raw, bloody chunk into his watering mouth. Thanks to flopping around in sauce and scattered food, it was already seasoned.

A few tasty chomps later, Squee heaved the mutilated body down the chute, crisping his ears in the process. Quickly mopping up the remaining spilled food with the discarded clothes, he threw those and the gold tray in as well. Shutting the door, he leaned heavily against the stone wall, catching his breath.

Unexpected snack aside, this little incident cost him precious time and he was now late. He couldn’t afford to miss this meeting.

Squee straightened, wiped the knife on his jeans, jammed it back in his boot and took off again. Giving up caution, he sprinted through the rest of the fortress, echoing footfalls tracing his wake. He really had to hurry now – his associate had temper and wasn’t known for patience.

If he stumbled across any others not in on the plan, so be it. It’d be their bad luck - he’d just kill them and leave the bodies.

_This is Hell_ , Squee reasoned. Demons routinely offed each other for any number of petty, strategic or nonsensical motives. Questions might be asked, but as long as the body count stayed under fifty he’d be fine … probably.

Besides, the demon assured himself as he tore through the hallways, the exit was now close and a saddled hell beast was waiting.

More importantly, Squee’s vicious smile gleamed as he ran, the Devil’s ruin was in the offing.

**********

“ _I don’t have it yet. There was a complication._ ”

Arms crossed, a long, agile finger lightly tapped a strong chin as the being placidly contemplated the vile, traitorous demon’s faint, nearly garbled words.

Intricately trimmed garments gently rustled as the space channeling the unholy voice rippled, sending waves of energy dancing, further straining the tenuous connection between the forced allies.

“Do we really need this disgusting, dishonorable creature’s aid?” low, dulcet tones queried.

Adorned in a hip-length, silver-braided, amethyst and navy form-fitting wrap top and cream leggings, the slender companion to his left sniffed in the desolate air, daintily dabbing a lightly perspiring, porcelain forehead.

The petite right hand holding the speaker-enabled smartphone gestured towards the twisting energy. “Really. This wretch is completely unnecessary.”

“I concur,” a deeper, disapproving voice on the right agreed.

Garbed in blue jeans and a short, sweat-stained, moss colored tunic dressed with rose-gold embroidery, the bald, burly figure’s hands clasped together inside flared sleeves. “We should not involve lowly vermin in something of such importance.”

“ _The lowly vermin wretch can hear you_ ,” a caustic reply sounded through the phone. “ _And you definitely still need me and what I can procure. Do you want a permanent solution or not? I know I do._ ”

_That much, at least, is true_ , the tall, coolly polished being in the center mused, untroubled by the unyielding, monstrous heat or the fickle demon. Both sides wanted to rectify this preposterous mess, but the demon’s expectations regarding a resolution surely differed from their own.

_Hmm_. This bore close watch as their plan got under way. It wouldn’t do for those involved to be at cross purposes - unnecessary complications would simply ruin it for everyone.

Perhaps sending a known, fairly well-tolerated party poking around might curb impulsive plan changes and possible double-crosses, the being debated, unconsciously readjusting a shirt sleeve inside an ivory, silk and angora blend robe shot with lustrous gold threads.

_Yes, that will do nicely_ , a satisfied nod sealed the decision as one potential infiltrator immediately sprung to mind. The perfect agent to keep watch while furthering their plot, a small, mirthless smile briefly touched the being’s face. They were dealing with demons, after all.

Demons _always_ bore watching.

For the time being, however, this entire woefully unnatural situation made them all strange, diametrically opposed bedfellows compelled into a tenuous working relationship by a common, frustratingly capricious catalyst.

The Devil.

Also known as Samael, Satan, Beelzebub, Old Nick, Old Scratch, the Serpent, the Adversary, Mephistopheles, Iblis, Belial, the Great Deceiver, Prince of Darkness, the Dragon, King of Hell, and a whole raft of other descriptive monikers too numerous to name.

There was one very specific, gallingly inconvenient label, however, that birthed distinctly aggravated, exasperated feelings in the usually tightly self-disciplined, determined and unflappable being.

Twin brother.

Michael imperceptibly shook his gloriously golden head, seriously irked that he, once again, had to clean up after his intractable, wayward twin. Really, the Lucifer drama should have ceased when their Father, in his infinite wisdom, consigned that fallen angel to Hell countless millennia ago.

“ _Sure, you can go ahead and do this without me, but the outcome won’t be permanent. With me, with what I can get,”_ the demon’s distorted voice continued, _“permanence is assured._ ”

Outside Hell’s darkly shimmering, impenetrable border, energy spasmed and pulsed far below the three hovering, angelic siblings as they regarded the crafty, ambitious demon’s words.

_Permanence_ , Michael lightly scoffed, arched blond eyebrows pulled into a frown as he reflected on his twin.

Despite springing forth fully formed at the exact same zeptosecond and sharing divinely handsome looks, since the dawn of Creation he and Lucifer had been complete polar opposites. In virtually _everything_.

Well, except fashion sense.

_We do have impeccable taste_ , Michael readily conceded. Penetrating, sapphire blue eyes lit up along with a subtle, unobtrusive grin as he casually fingered the notched lapel of the taupe, merino wool, windowpane patterned jacket hiding under his luxurious, dressed-to-intimidate robe.

As irritating, divisive, contrary and, well, devilish as Lucifer was, Michael freely acknowledged there one thing he truly missed about his fractious brother.

His wardrobe.

The Devil had a jaw-dropping legion of fabulous vestments and had been happy to share, curse him. Michael had griped for centuries at losing half his exquisite clothing options when God zapped his seditious twin straight to Hell.

The faint, heart-stopping grin faded. Luxury custom wardrobe and dashing good looks weren’t everything, though. Michael sobered, the weight of their covert plan resting heavily as he further pondered his sibling.

Contrasting hair color aside, Lucifer’s gifts ramped things up, calling forth the deepest, darkest of desires, often to ill effect and unbridled sin.

Michael, however, likened his own abilities to purification.

Instead of dredging up desires better left unheeded, he siphoned off potentially destructive inclinations and behaviors. The Devil’s powers, if unchecked, could rain utter disaster while his, conversely, stabilized and encouraged equanimity.

He was a peacekeeper while Lucifer personified chaos.

Not to mention the whole rebelling against God fiasco.

_Selfish bastard_. Eyes narrowed and lips tightened as dander, laced with a tang of betrayal, roused at memories of that devastating celestial clash. Michael fought for anchoring balance, one hand surreptitiously rubbing the dull jab in his chest.

After all, most forgot _he’d_ been the one tasked with leading Heaven’s defense, flaming sword in hand, forced to oust his brother – _his twin_ – from the Silver City.

Despite their vexing differences and thorny relationship, that stung. Hard.

_Damn._ Fluttering at his side in the stark, endless bleakness, Zachariah and Jeremiel were shooting quizzical glances his way. He must’ve telegraphed some measure of internal distress. He needed to get a grip before doubts about his leadership cropped up.

Michael forced himself to relax, one muscle at a time, then closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, centering breath. A moment later, unrest banished and calm restored, contemplation resumed as he mulled their response to the demon.

Lucifer cast nary a peripheral thought to the casualties, to those he’d hurt, during his battle for free will. Their fiendish sibling was never satisfied, constantly in motion and demanding change.

The demon was wrong. With Lucifer permanence was _never_ assured.

Case in point, since their heavenly skirmish Lucifer incessantly defied their Father’s will by repeatedly popping out of Hell. He regularly consorted with mortals, as well as engaging in and encouraging their seemingly endless vices.

And worst of all, by some strange, unfathomable means, Lucifer corrupted staunchly devoted, unwavering Amenadiel, the Silver City’s finest warrior – _well, other than me, of course_ , Michael asserted, unabashed - who now had a half angel, half human child.

An angelic _child._ Who ever heard of such a thing?? It completely defied logic and natural celestial order. 

Even now voluntarily back in Hell, his rebellious, unruly twin was upending things, subverting fate itself – and by association, their Father’s grand, unknowable design – by saving the damned.

Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, the Devil himself, _saving_ the _damned_.

Inconceivable!

Restored calm – _Phfftt!_ \- vanished in blink.

_How dare he mock Father’s plan like this!_ Rankled anew, blue eyes flashed a glittering gold that mirrored his stylish, wavy locks.

Everything in Creation had its careful, meticulously well-crafted place, forming a truly wondrous, intricate symmetry that supported all manner of life across multiple realities and dimensions.

Heaven and Hell, predator and prey, good and evil, wine and cheese, yin and yang, angels and demons, the saved and the damned, death and taxes – everything was just as it should be, in perfect equilibrium.

And his infernal sibling was wreaking havoc with that superb, exquisite harmony.

But they could limit his damaging effects.

“Demon,” Michael started, resolve strengthened, “the timing-“

“ _Squee_ ,” the annoying creature interjected. “ _It’s Squee. We’ve worked together how long now? Use my damn name, Michael. Or are you afraid of sullying those divinely born lips?_ ”

Despite the fluctuating connection, the sneer came through loud and clear. As did the desperately unspoken, likely unrealized plea for acknowledgment and token respect.

Michael stilled, pausing a moment. He ignored Jeremiel’s decidedly non-angelic, non-dainty snort and Zachariah’s intensifying glower.

He wasn’t upset, however. The demon’s petty desires were of no consequence, the token an insignificant, meaningless gesture.

“Very well. Squee,” Michael generously allowed. Besides, he’d thoroughly address that back-stabber’s impertinence when this was all over.

“The timing is paramount and bears close watch. We can arrange for a go-between to keep you posted and account for time discrepancies between Hell and Earth in case the app crashes. We’ll also need the identities of the demon-inhabited humans that will be directly involved in the action.”

“ _I’ve got it covered,_ ” the fuzzy, mollified voice replied. “ _Several dozen demons are keeping watch up top with real-time updates. They can pop to Hell and back in an instant with no one the wiser. I’m sending a secure file with the details so you’ll know which possessed humans to approach._ ”

In a few seconds Michael’s smartphone chirped a notification from his breast pocket. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the phone. “I’ve received it.”

A couple taps on the touch screen forwarded the file to his celestial siblings.

“Remember, no needlessly torturing humans or animals, and no unnecessary killing,” Jeremiel urgently chimed in, left hand gracefully brushing a stray, curling chestnut lock back from earnest, topaz eyes.

“We’ve scoped out where to best place the lures for maximum effect,” Zachariah added, round, ruddy face still glowering. He pulled his phone out of his right back pocket. “We’re sending you a map with the spots marked and a list of the lures we’ve chosen based on your feedback.” Several taps completed the action.

“ _Got the map and list_ ,” Squee warbled a couple seconds later. “ _I’ll make sure my demons in Los Angeles get the information._ ” A brief pause, then the demon snickered, apparently having opened the file.

“ _Oh yeah. This will definitely draw him back to Earth._ ”

“Keep in mind that this, drastic though it may be, baits the hook,” Michael proclaimed, glancing at both of his siblings, who nodded back. Good. They were all still firmly on the same page.

“He’ll know it’s a trap but not its nature, so no mistakes. Make sure your colleagues stick to the plan and don’t improvise. We only have one chance to do this properly and return to the status quo with new management in Hell.”

“We can do this without the object, obviously, but it would be easier and longer lasting with it,” he reluctantly admitted, distaste coating his tongue.

“If you don’t have it by the time we send the signal, we’ll still be able to contain him but, well,” Michael shrugged, ambivalent, “ _you’ll_ have a harder time back in Hell. Even contained, as you well know, the Devil has supremely uncanny means of twisting things towards his advantage.”

“ _Don’t worry_ ,” the demon’s faint voice sounded determined. “ _I’ll have the item by the time we need it. Count on it._ ”

“Excellent,” Michael replied, definitely not counting on it. “We’ll touch base again when the first phase begins.”

Covert meeting now adjourned, Jeremiel closed their secret, recently launched CHHAOS – Coordinating Heaven Hell And Ousting Satan – app and tucked the phone in the front pocket of her leggings, a sorrowful, fleeting grimace crossing her stunning, oval face.

Michael echoed that feeling. However, their plan, distressing and severe as it seemed, was for the best. There was no going back now. Phase one would kick off as soon as they graced Heaven.

The angelic siblings shared a wordless, portentous look, then flitted off through dismally gray air, leaving the lonely, austere landscape and Hell’s rippling border far behind.

_Saving the damned!_ Michael shook his head mid-flight, still extremely irritated at his twin as well as truly perplexed. What was all of Creation coming to??

_Soon_ , Michael consoled himself as they winged towards the tranquil sanctity of Heaven, sharply brushing off the sole wispy, transient mote of doubt flicking his conscience.

Very soon, Lucifer wouldn’t be able to save the damned.

He wouldn’t even be able to save himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Launching from the soaring, gilded dome high above, the angel gracefully spiraled through velvet darkness, a diaphanous mesh of starry twinkles glinting off wide, snowy wings.

Closer now, warm beams slashed across the swiftly descending figure, catching laughing aquamarine eyes peeking out from a sandy waterfall crashing on chiseled cheeks. Quirked knowing brow, dazzling smile and radiating self-assurance promised a night not soon forgotten.

Tie-dye checkered Vans softly hit the raised platform. Standing tall in slouchy blue jeans and black Radiohead “OK COMPUTER” T-shirt, the celestial remained motionless as scattered anticipation bunched and gathered.

An arm shot straight up. Feverishly peaked excitement suddenly froze, expectancy heavily weighing the night air.

The arm dropped, a collective breath inhaled, then …

_TTHHRRRUUUMMMMM!!_

… the crowd exploded, clapping and whistling madly, shouts and yells shaking the museum’s elegantly appointed grand lobby along with the thundering snarl of the fuzzed, stacked fifth power chord.

Lounging well beyond the small stage centered in the rotunda, away from the screaming, riffing Stratocaster and adoring fans packing the mosaic floor and lining the coiling three-story staircase, Amenadiel wondered how Castiel managed to keep a straight face while a harness dropped him and his fake wings to the stage.

Not to mention the rest of Silver City Hooky, meaning Zeek, Murry and Nate. Or rather Ezekiel, Muriel and Nathaniel. Amenadiel was pretty sure ‘Murry’ was the source of that sharp, guffawing snort nearly botching Castiel’s dramatic entrance.

Angels pretending to be mortals pretending to be angels pretending to be rock stars?

 _Oh yeah_ , _this is so not going to end well._ Amenadiel grabbed a handful of goat cheese and bacon puffs from a passing tray, popping them into his mouth one by one. Especially since, conveniently without any roadies or crew helping out, none of his siblings bothered to hook up their instruments or equipment.

Someone was eventually bound to notice.

Still, Amenadiel proudly applauded their unabashed boldness and ambition, their willingness to take a chance on the unknown. Not every angel could – or wanted to - shuck countless millennia of traditions, conditioning and celestial expectations, forging new futures free of Heavenly influence.

 _I helped them do this_ , he marveled, awed by their willingness to leap when it had taken him a fall, subsequent resurrection and unexpected fatherhood to chart his course.

A frisson of satisfaction coursed as he beheld his sister and brothers jam their angelic hearts out. Lucy’s Heavenly war planted the seeds eons ago, but in the Silver City Amenadiel eagerly talked up self-actualization, humanity and opening up to new experiences, citing both his and Lucifer’s adventures on Earth.

Astoundingly, plenty of angels listened.

It was those siblings he now sought. Together, maybe they could succeed in helping the King of Hell ditch his foreordination.

A cascading river of silky, raven waves bobbing across the room caught Amenadiel’s eye.

A stunning, animated woman in strappy red heels, flowing white pants and a sparkling cherry red, one-shouldered top sliced through the raucous crowd, every stride emanating confidence.

An entourage of admiring glances trailed along with two trotting aides, sporting hunter-green polo shirts with Garden Party Events & Catering logos in neat golden script embroidered on right-breast pockets, as she made her way over to a column near the stage.

Speaking rapidly into the slim microphone attached to her earpiece, one slender hand beckoned someone off to the side while the other pointed at something on the tablet held by an assistant. The second aide patiently hovered at her elbow, awaiting forthcoming instructions.

Responding to the summons two whited-jacketed caterers rolled up, pushing a cart draped in blue velvet, showcasing a towering ivory cake with eight hefty, frosted tiers.

Festooned with piped scrollwork, iridescent fondant-sculpted angel wings and a sprinkling of gold luster dust, the decadent confection sported a cloud-like substance on top with ‘Silver City Hooky’, unsurprisingly in silver, poking out.

 _Looks like she’s found herself_ , Amenadiel mused, watching Eve shoo the cake forward as the song hit its last, earsplitting notes.

Unobtrusively, she cued Castiel with a pointed look. Castiel discretely nodded back as Zeek, Murry and Nate abandoned their instruments, joined their utterly stupefying - for mortals, at least - nine-octave-range lead singer and took a bow for the cheering audience.

“Thank you! _Thank you_ , everyone!” Castiel began, the cake now front and center. “Thank you so much for coming out this evening and helping us celebrate Silver City Hooky’s _debut_ album hitting Platinum and reaching Billboard’s top ten! _Yeah!_ ” He paused, waiting for the resounding whoops to settle a bit.

“Not only that but, thanks to you, our songs,” a hand gesture included the bandmates, “currently hold _five_ of the top spots streaming on multiple platforms!”

“But honestly, the best part is you, our fans.” Nodding, clapping and a couple whistles aimed at the crowd from the angels on stage.

Zeek’s resonant tenor picked up the speech. “When we started this journey, we weren’t sure what the future held. But we knew, deep within our very cores, we wanted to touch hearts and minds with music.”

Murry continued, a sweeping hand taking in the audience while her clear, robust soprano sang out. “We hoped you’d laugh with us, cry with us, _dream_ with us, and be _inspired_ with us. We’ve been so humbled you’ve let us into your lives with our songs.”

Nate wrapped things up with a rich baritone. “So this celebration is not just for us, but for _you_ , not only as our fans but as our inspiration! _Thank you!_ ”

From her observation spot in the wings, Eve signaled the caterer standing by the cake cart.

_CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!_

Four deafening, rapid-fire cracks sounded, explosions of glitter, streamers, confetti, flower petals, and feathers shooting high from ribbon-disguised tubes at the cart’s corners as a rainbow shower of balloons dropped, filling the air.

 _I should’ve brought Charlie_ , Amenadiel thought, regretting having left his son at home for this outing. He shoved the rest of the puffs into his mouth, then briskly dusted crumbs off his hands. Drum-loving Charlie would have thrilled over this noisy, colorful spectacle _._

Brushing confetti from his head, Amenadiel batted aside balloons as he picked his way over to Eve through jostling people and round, blue velvet-skirted cocktail tables.

“No,” speaking into her microphone, Eve spotted him and waved. “Keep the champagne coming, please. We need a few more trays out here. Thank you.”

“Amenadiel! It’s so good to see you again!” Eve gushed, removing her earpiece and giving him hug. “And looking so sharp as well,” an approving nod at his smart, charcoal, three-button suit with a subtle plaid pattern.

“Thanks. It’s good to see you, too, Eve.”

Smiling, Amenadiel returned the hug, then stepped back, giving Eve a contemplative once-over after her quick “Excuse me for just a second, Amenadiel.” Turning to her assistants, she smartly rattled off a succession of directives, sending them scurrying in opposite directions.

He and Linda had been extremely upset with Eve over the whole demons-stealing-Charlie screwup a year ago. However, willingness to forgive, time and recalling his own past missteps lessened the trauma.

Well, _his_ trauma at any rate. Linda was still pretty frosty about the whole thing, even with her understanding nature. Eve definitely wasn’t getting birthday invitations any time soon.

“So. Event and party planner, huh?” Amenadiel snagged two champagnes from a passing server, handing her a flute as she pivoted back in his direction.

Beaming, Eve accepted the glass. “You know how I _love_ a party,” she laughed brightly. “With this, not only do I get to throw awesome bashes, but I help people celebrate significant times in their lives.”

She took a sip of the fizzing drink. “Hopefully, memories like these,” a gesture at the lively event, “will stay with them not only in good times, but also help ease any rough patches.”

“It suits you, Eve. You seem happy,” Amenadiel gestured at the surrounding celebration with his glass, “and this is a rousing success. Congratulations!”

“Here’s to finding yourself,” he toasted, saluting with his drink.

“Thank you, Amenadiel. That means a lot.” Depositing her glass on a nearby table, Eve fidgeted with the earpiece in hand. “I love what I’m doing, don’t get me wrong, but ‘happy’ might be a little overly ambitious.”

“What is it?” Something chased away her easy smile, the angel noted. In the middle of this celebratory blitz, Eve seemed engaged in an internal wrestling match. “Come on, Eve. What is it? I’m a good listener, or so I’m told, if you need a friendly ear.”

Eve bit her red bottom lip, worrying it for a few seconds, then looked up at him. Hesitation mixed with trepidation and a touch of longing in her revealing, chocolate eyes.

Suddenly, Amenadiel knew exactly what – or rather _who_ \- was on her mind.

Eve shifted, facing him fully, then voiced the already telegraphed question. “So, uh, how’s Ma-“

“Eve!” The boisterous angel band cut her off.

“ _Thank you_ and _congratulations_ to our lovely Eve for pulling this together!” Castiel sidled up from behind with Muriel, Nathaniel and Ezekiel on his heels, appreciation on their lips as they encircled and hugged their fellow escapee from Heaven.

“Nice going, Eve!”

“Yes, thank you for the awesome party!”

“Totally bitching!” A quizzical look from Ezekiel, who brushed strategically messy, sable hair from almond eyes. “Wait. Do humans still say that?”

“You’re welcome, no clue, and nice job up there. The fans loved it!” Eye-crinkling smile now back, Eve focused her attention on the crowding angels. “The party’s going well so far, if I do so say so myself.”

Amenadiel went along with the topic change. If Eve was keeping her feelings private then he would honor her wishes. He’d follow up with her later in a quieter spot.

“So well, in fact, that it lured even _you_ here, Amenadiel,” Castiel warmly embraced him. “Welcome, brother!”

“Brothers! Sister!” A few more hugs and back-slaps later, Amenadiel pointed at their attire. “You realize grunge went out with the nineties, right?”

“Apparently, we’re being ironic,” Muriel piped up, hazel eyes twinkling as purple-tipped fingers raked a dayglo orange pixie cut. “I’m told that’s a thing these days.”

“And I suppose real angels with fake wings are ironic as well?” Amenadiel asked after a sip from his glass.

“Ha!” Castiel boasted, slapping his hands together. “That’s just our little inside joke now, isn’t it?”

Nathaniel, Ezekiel, Muriel and Amenadiel traded a long-suffering look familiar to siblings everywhere, no matter the alternate reality.

Nathaniel, amber eyes as wry as his lopsided grin, jerked a thumb over at Castiel. “Guess whose idea _that_ was?”

“I can’t imagine,” Amenadiel chuckled. “You guys were great, by the way, even staying only within the frequency range humans register. Is the rock star life all you thought it would be?”

“Actually, we can take or leave the rock star part,“ Ezekiel started.

“Hey! Speak for yourself,” Castiel broke in, elbowing his plaid-shirted brother. “I, for one, _love_ the rock star part.”

“But experiencing everyday life among humans is an eye-opener,” Ezekiel rubbed his elbowed ribs, barely skipping a beat. “It’s one thing interacting with souls in Heaven after they’ve died, but quite another living among them on Earth.”

Nathaniel, square jaw nodding in agreement, added, “Countless everyday choices that can spin off in so many directions, freedom to explore multiple passions.” A head toss rippled shoulder-length amber hair that matched his eyes. “Ha! It’s both exhilarating and completely maddening.”

“Did you know people often pursue several careers in one lifetime down here?” Nathaniel’s hands mimed an exploding head. “Mind blown! Not just one primary job you were involuntarily assigned, with all its associated tasks for thousands of boring years, but many. How cool is that?”

“Not to mention joys and sorrows, mistakes and flaws, and even redemption,” Muriel jumped in, casually twirling drum sticks pulled from the back pocket in her olive pants.

“On Earth, it’s all so much more intense. With Heaven, utter peace and joy are transcendent, sure. And it _is_ fantastic, don’t get me wrong,” she explained, “but amidst the living, we’ve the privilege of exploring the entire spectrum of dynamic emotions.”

“Plus, mortals make mistakes, try again, fumble some more, then keep trying. And guess what?” Muriel exulted. “They manage to persevere!”

“Now we make those same kinds of choices, carve our own destinies.” Castiel’s laughing eyes were serious for once. “Success or failure, it’s on us. And it is absolutely _wonderful_.”

“And it’ll continue being wonderful over there,” Eve pointed a french-manicured hand towards a cocktail table closer to the bar opposite the stage.

A thirty-something sporting a bright, royal blue jacket and start of a receding hairline beckoned. “Your agent wants a word. I think he’s interested in hearing plans for your next album and discussing a global tour.”

One of Eve’s assistants hustled over through the crowd. “Ma’am? An incident is brewing between security and a few partygoers.”

The bespectacled young woman handed Eve the tablet she’d been holding. Eve slipped her earpiece back in, took the tablet and tapped the screen.

Amenadiel peered at the screen over her shoulder. A fan was apparently live-streaming a drunk, pants-dropping partier, sporting floppy, fake wings, mooning security just outside the museum.

“Excuse me, please, everyone,” Eve announced as she turned away, attention still focused on the video. “Duty calls.”

Castiel turned towards Amenadiel, throwing an arm across hisbroad shoulders as they slowly made their way over to the waiting agent. “Are you staying for a while? Give a us couple of hours then we’ll catch up back at our hotel.”

Amenadiel shook his head. “I can’t stay long this time. I’m visiting Remy next, then tracking down Metatron, Daniel, Sandalphon and several others. As many of our brethren here on Earth as I can, actually.”

Ezekiel and Muriel looked up from raiding a server’s sliced cake tray while Nathaniel wiped an errant frosting dab from his white T-shirt and licked his finger. A few steps away, Eve instantly halted, throwing a concerned look over a shoulder. Murmuring a few words to her aide, who raced off again, she quickly rejoined the group.

“This isn’t a social visit, is it?” Castiel guessed, stopping their progress. Removing his arm from Amenadiel’s shoulders, he signaled the agent that they would be a few more minutes.

“No, it isn’t,” Amenadiel readily admitted, putting down his glass on a passing tray and crossing his arms. “Before returning to your new paths, I need your help with something.”

The resounding chorus of replies was immediate.

“Absolutely! Name it.”

“Of course!”

“Whatever you need, Amenadiel.”

“We’re here for you, big brother.”

Amenadiel inhaled deeply, cautiously optimistic with these celestial siblings, and carefully weighed his words. Ages ago these four had backed Lucifer’s failed bid for free will and self-determination. With any luck, they would be just as open-minded tonight.

Exhaling, Amenadiel uncrossed his arms and took the plunge. “Thank you, and I hope you still feel that way after you hear me out.”

“I am so proud you’re taking control of your lives, and I’m excited to see your futures unfold. However, there is one of us that needs help changing his destiny.” He paused, a meaningful look leveled at each of the ancient beings in turn. Everyone gave Amenadiel their full attention.

“I realize you’re eagerly testing new experiences here on Earth so what I’m about to ask may be an imposition, and may even involve a sacrifice. But I’m asking all the same.”

“Lucifer needs our help,” Amenadiel proclaimed, catching sharp, darting glances between his brethren.

Eve’s demeanor, he perceived, abruptly intensified, resolve strengthening in her eyes and the set of her lips. Amenadiel sensed she, at least, was already onboard.

“He was the one who originally fought for free will but now _we’re_ the ones actually enjoying it, creating new lives for ourselves. He fell from grace and was banished to Hell for seeking what we now possess. Our brother is hung up on the path already laid out for him, one not of his choosing. Together, however, we can change that fate.”

“So will you help me?” Amenadiel beseeched, arms held wide.

“Will you help me change the Devil’s destiny?”

**********

A denim-jacketed figure, machete in hand, carelessly relaxed on the hood an older model, intimidating black muscle car while another taller figure easily leaned against the driver’s door, devil horns affixed to his head.

Barely discernible IDs on their jackets read Agents Skywalker and Solo.

“Okay. Very funny, guys.”

_BOING!_

Dan recoiled, nearly tripping over a chair at his back.

A ghost popped up from what should have been a tissue box parked on his overflowing desk.

“Ha ha. Okay. You got me!”

Flinging his arms wide, Dan turned in a circle amid the hoots and claps of his surrounding coworkers. “Yup, you got me. _Again!_ ”

Disgruntled, Dan slapped the file he’d been holding onto the desk, sending papers flying, and roughly pulled up his chair.

“Does _no one_ but me have any actually _work_ to do around here?!” he called out as the laughing tapered off and personnel headed back to their duties.

“And it’s Agents _Hamill_ and _Ford_ , not Skywalker and Solo!” Dan indignantly announced to retreating backs, yanking out the swaying plastic ghost and attached spring mechanism from the box.

Miffed, he made a show of hurling the toy into the small trash can by his desk, then froze in the middle of sitting down.

 _Better safe than on youtube,_ he grumbled. Two almost viral videos taught him that.

Muttering retaliatory vengeance under his breath, Dan thoroughly scanned his desk for more no-longer-so-amusing surprises. Then squatted down and checked underneath. Just in case.

Finding nothing else, he blew out an annoyed breath and plopped into his chair.

 _Come on already! Six times is enough_ , Dan groused, slouching back, cursing his newly acquired reputation as resident ‘woo-woo’ hunter.

When he and Ella decided on pursuing ‘unusual’ incidents – there was _no way_ he was calling them supernatural, mysterious, unexplainable or any other ‘woo-woo’ words, Ella or no Ella – in hopes of generating leads on Lucifer, he suspected word would get around.

After a few laughs and some good-natured jokes, Dan fully anticipated the teasing would die down. Apparently, his coworkers had other ideas.

A month later the ribbing was still going strong.

 _This is totally getting out of hand_ , Dan crabbed, evilly eyeing the action figures and toy Impala squatting on his desk.

Although, he grudgingly recalled, the first time had been pretty clever.

Last month he returned to the precinct after a lengthy, exhausting stake out, collapsed in his chair, then blearily played his voicemail.

Some indistinguishable buzzing and static sounded, then “Who you gonna call?” sprung forth. That was it. No other information was included. Tired, fuzzy and not recognizing the voice or phone number, he hit replay but it contained nothing else.

 _Wrong number_ , he had shrugged. So he played the next message.

“GHOSTBUSTERS!” blared multiple voices. That, he got.

Chuckling, he stood up and bowed to the catcalling, guffawing crowd.

That one, kinda funny. The next one, not so much.

The second time, low and behold, someone actually made fresh coffee instead of drinking the nearly transparent, brackish, fermenting-for-half-a-day liquid already in the pot. Scenting the enticing new brew, he dashed to the convenience center ahead of the crowd, eager to snag a cup before it disappeared.

Two minutes. Two _measly_ minutes was how long he left his docked laptop unlocked. When he returned, steaming cup in hand, a deteriorating green zombie danced on his screen.

Okay, it was funny … until he realized he was locked out. That finger-wagging undead leered every time he entered a wrong password.

“Seriously?!” he exclaimed at snickering colleagues. “Okay, who did this? Come on, people! I have work to do! Someone get over here and unlock this thing!”

Unsurprisingly, no one fessed up. He ended up wasting a half hour getting an administrator on the line to fix the problem.

“Aww! Dan, you should’ve called me,” Ella had said when he vented about the incident. “I could’ve easily handled it in, like, thirty seconds!”

And Chloe wondered why he hadn’t modify the laptop settings so it would automatically lock after several seconds of nonuse. “Didn’t Trixie show you how to do that after the last time?”

At that point, Dan resolutely stop sharing these wonderful little experiences with Ella and Chloe.

Unfortunately, the pranks had gone downhill from there.

As practical jokes go, however, this last one wasn’t so bad.

 _Trixie might like this_ , Dan speculated, annoyance lessening after a few minutes. He picked up and admired the Impala. After all, they both enjoyed the show and together had streamed every season. Opening a desk drawer, he stashed the car and action figures. He’d stop by Chloe’s tomorrow after work and give them to his daughter.

Getting back to work, Dan shrugged off his brown leather jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair. Opening the new file, he started reviewing. Hopefully, something would catch his eye, turning this from an unfortunate accident into a possible break.

Once word got out regarding his interest in strange cases, fellow detectives and officers started feeding him tidbits. If there was something even remotely peculiar about an incident or one of their cases – homicide or non-homicide related - he got a call.

Eyewitness swearing up and down an invisible man threw a victim to their death? He got a call. Ghost of a dead guy fired the gun? He got a call. John Doe gets up, strolls out of the morgue and vanishes? Yup, he got a call.

So far, Dan reckoned, yawning along with a bone-crackling stretch, this one was fairly straightforward as far as unlucky accidents go. Well, as straightforward as death could be in such a horribly messy scenario.

According to witnesses, this poor guy apparently had eyes glued to his phone, didn’t pay attention and stepped in front of a speeding bus. Tragic, yes, but not the strange or unusual he and Ella sought.

Puzzled and tired after a long day, Dan briefly wondered why Perez suggested taking a gander at this case. Head propped up on his hand, he nevertheless continued skimming the contents.

Very slowly, Dan grew aware that his internal radar was tingling. He wasn’t sure what, but something in here jiggled his brain. Now fully alert, he halted reading mid-page.

Deliberately closing the file, he waited a few beats, then reopened it, starting over with sharpened intent.

This time that something leapt out, staring him right in the face.

 _Well, how about that,_ Dan reflected. This death occurred within a block of Lux. He sat back, mulling it over, senses still urgently pinging.

Brows drawn, he cocked his head, fingers restlessly tapping the desk. It was late, he wanted a beer and his bed, but there was something else to this, Dan was dead sure of it. Something within the last few weeks gnawed his tired memory.

Re-energized, he opened his laptop and tapped away, quickly calling up other recently perused cases. Fifteen minutes and a dozen cases later, Dan found his answer.

This made the third death within a two-block radius of Lux within the past month.

 _Come on, that’s gotta be a coincidence,_ Dan argued, rolling it around his mind while scrolling through information on the other cases.

One death was ruled a suicide while the second was a seemingly random drive-by shooting with no current suspects. Two different causes of death with no uncovered connections.

And now there was this new incident. From everything Dan read in the file, it would probably be labeled accidental, but he’d check the autopsy report when it came out.

Opening another window on the laptop, he pulled up a map of the streets surrounding Lux and zoomed in, pinpointing the spots where the deaths occurred.

Three dots nearly boxed in Lux.

So close in timing and proximity? That couldn’t be a coincidence, even with differing causes of death. Two deaths, sure, but Dan’s instincts practically yelled that three flirted with some kind of unrecognized pattern.

 _Hold on. Don’t get too excited,_ Dan cautioned himself. Deaths, homicides or not, occurred with exhausting regularity. These localized incidents could still be just a massively freakish happenstance.

He’d touch base with Amenadiel, see if there was any scuttlebutt about the deaths. Amenadiel now ran Lux so he might know something. Dan mentally noted to swing by the club later this week.

 _Maze, too,_ he added. She could readily glean scraps of information or suspicious rumblings from her many dubious contacts.

Glancing down at the open file, Dan again wondered why Perez insisted he read it. After all, his fellow detective had no knowledge of his interest in anything dealing with Lucifer Morningstar.

He should finish going over the information before calling Ella or entertaining unwarranted assumptions.

 _Coffee_ , Dan firmly decided as another yawn snuck up and attacked. He needed coffee before diving back in and trying to make sense of this senselessness.

Shoving back from the desk, he stood up. Before taking a step, he noticed a tiny yellow corner peeking out from papers previously scattered when he slammed down the file.

Dan uncovered a square post-it scrawled with Perez’s small, tight handwriting.

“Check sister,” the note instructed. “Claims died of heart attack last wk,” Dan turned over the square, “jogging Griffith Park. Weird enough for you, Espinoza?”

 _Dying twice? Oh yeah, that’s definitely weird enough_ , Dan readily agreed. This made the second time in the past few weeks that someone claimed a corpse rose up and skedaddled.

Time to clue in Ella and very thoroughly dissect these cases for any potential connections, no matter how remote, to either Lux or Lucifer.

Dan grinned, excitement zipping along his spine, chasing off the day’s exhaustion. The case of the disappearing devil was _finally_ heating up.

Rooting through his jacket, he yanked out his smartphone. 

_Screw it,_ Dan recklessly asserted, pulling up Ella’s number, still grinning. _Bring on the ‘woo woo’!_

**********

“Hey, Lucifer! Haven’t seen you lately.”

“Omigosh! Is that him?? Is that the _Devil?_ ”

“Huh. I thought he’d be, you know, more scaly.”

Greetings and whispers flowed as Lucifer threaded the mass of souls exiting the civic center as the recent “Guilt Be Damned!” meeting let out.

“You missed a good one tonight, Lucifer. Jen finally opened up!”

“Yes, hello. Excuse me. Hi there. Yes, yes, hello to you, too. King of Hell coming through, please.”

Lucifer paused amid chestnut oxford-shod step, halfway up the cobblestone path leading to the glassed entrance.

“Wait.” Honestly surprised, he faced the chatty attendee. “What? She did?! That’s _wonderful!_ Where is she?”

Scanning the dissipating crowd, he spotted the shy soul.

“Jenny!” The slight, red-headed former nurse turned, smiling and waving when she saw him. He shot her a double thumbs up. “ _Bravo!_ Nice going. Keep it up and you’ll be out of here in no time!”

Inordinately pleased, Lucifer now tread several pounds lighter along the path.

Turmoil still raged within, of course, but that bit of good news reminded Hell’s king that despite everything - all the anger, despair, involuntary roastings, and emotional rollercoaster – he really was doing good things here in the abyss.

 _I’ve got a good feeling about this_ , Lucifer hummed, sliding open the door and stepping into the vacated meeting room.

Following last week’s suite scorching spectacle, Lucifer reluctantly accepted that seeing Dr. Rachel sooner rather than later was in his – and everyone’s – best interests.

That flaming inferno solidified his all-too-delicate perch on the verge of … well, if he knew _that_ he wouldn’t need Dr. Rachel, now would he? It also, strangely enough, loosened something inside and he was quite keen to find out what.

 _You know what’s wrong with me. Just tell me, for Hell’s sake,_ Lucifer griped without any real heat, more out of habit than anything else in his current, unexpectedly positive mood.

Dr. Rachel, just like Dr. Linda before her but with the added bonus of wickedly inventive cursing, would nudge him along until he, after a maddening amount of misinterpretations and zigzagging dead-ends, _finally_ figured things out.

But if she simply spelled it out, Lucifer argued with himself, his favorite subject wouldn’t come up as often.

 _And let’s face it_ , a cocksure grin appeared, _I’m endlessly fascinating_.

Reaching the back of the room, he veered left, taking the wide hallway leading to Dr. Rachel’s office. A few long strides later and her white door appeared.

Lucifer took a moment, unconsciously adjusting his caramel-colored three-piece suit, collecting himself with a deep breath.

A zippy, electric sensation enveloping the air suggested this just might be a breakthrough day.

Anticipation now singing, he knocked a few times, then grasped the silver handle. Twisting it, he pushed open the door.

“Ah. Lovely! You’re here.” Stepping in, Lucifer shut the door.

“Now, Dr. Rachel, “ he began, then did a double-take, looking closer. “Oh no …”

Lucifer trailed off as the good doctor, eyes wide behind yellow cat-eye glasses and a shocked “O” pasting her bubblegum pink lips, glowed brightly.

“Now?? You’re achieving utter guilt-free peace _now?!_ I’m in crisis here!”

“Sorry, Lucifer! And _thank you!_ ” the doctor called out as the intoxicating scent of Heavenly serenity perfumed the air. Features joyous, the Devil’s therapist glowed even brighter, then – _Poof!_ – a burst of golden sparks and she was gone.

 _Now that’s just rude_ , the King of Hell grouched. _We were practically in the middle of a session. You can’t simply pop off in the middle of a session!_

Great. Just _great_. Thanks to his incredibly inconsiderate former therapist, he now had to scrounge up a new one. Preferably guiltier than the last.

 _Bloody hell_ , the now cranky Devil growled.

Lucifer _knew_ he’d had a bad feeling about this.


	7. Chapter 7

“’Hot Tub High School’, _right?_ ”

Slurping a deliciously fruity alcoholic concoction through a long, twisty orange straw, a tipsy Chloe side-eyed the two millennials suddenly standing by her chair.

 _Nope_ , she blinked, squinting through frantic lights, screeching music and yammering, writhing partiers consuming all the oxygen in the at-capacity nightclub. One teenager, not two, came into focus.

“Amiright? I’m right, aren’t I? You’re _totally_ from ‘Hot Tub High School!’” the cute blond crowed, scooching into her personal space.

“What are you, like, twelve?” Sucking the straw, Chloe frowned at the now spinning middle-schooler. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Sniggering trickled from the left while a chortle snapped out from beyond the pre-teen on her right.

Chloe put down her wobbling drink. Come to think of it, _she_ might be the one spinning.

“What?” The boy looked confused.

“That’s _Detective_ ‘Hot Tub High School!’“ Chloe loudly announced, fumbling her badge out from silver skinny jeans.

 _Whoomp!_ A poor, smooshed pineapple wedge oozed from under the badge she’d mashed down on the littered bar.

“ _No way!_ Is that real?” squeaked the toddler, eyes widening.

“Seriously, where are your parents?” Chloe looked around for the infant’s guardians, then thought better of it when her head started floating.

“Uh, Linda? Watch the newborn for a minute.”

 _Better,_ Chloe sighed, eyes closed, head now safely tucked on the bar. This was much better, she decided, ignoring the blond chuckling on her left. A cool, wet sensation lovingly caressed her cheek. “I’m just gonna rest for a bit, okay? Okay.”

“Come on,” a perky voice chirped as a glass thudded beside her head. Was that Ella? It sounded like Ella. “We’re dancing!”

Chloe cracked an eye, wincing as Ella’s multi-colored sequined top drove gleaming spears into her brain. She watched as her friend hauled the zygote off to a packed, rollicking dance floor.

“Man, Decker, you are _sooo_ blitzed!”

Indignant, Chloe raised a pleasantly unattached head.

“Blitzed? No way,” she challenged a hooting, vaguely Maze-shaped outline. “Come on,” a hand banged down, the other pointed at herself, “another one! Right here!”

“Another one!” Linda echoed, both hands rapidly drum-rolling the bar, an ear-to-ear grin plastering her face. A cobalt halter-top dress skimmed her figure while strobing lights set off twinkles in her eyes. “ _Woo!_ Baby-less tonight, sisters! Come on, lightweights! Bring it!”

“Speaking of which, how’d you manage that?” Chloe, curious, regarded a shot-chugging Linda. “Maze is over there,” a wave at absolutely nobody.

“Uh,” she tried again, flapping a hand in Maze’s general direction this time. “I mean, over _there_.”

“Not my turn,” Maze declared, lazily sipping a scotch, sans ice. Leaning back in her seat, long legs crossed, a seriously toned bare arm was casually flung over the back of her chair. Black leather pants, a shiny, chrome-studded red corset top and multi-roped, jet-beaded necklace intensified her coolly confident, don’t-fuck-with-me aura.

Chloe absently wondered how many knives Maze tucked into that ensemble. _Gotta be at least eight_ , she woozily suspected. Maybe ten. She’d ask Maze tomorrow.

Linda wiped a dribble of tequila from her lips, signaling the astute bartender for another. “Amenadiel. He’s got Charlie for the _whole_ night! Let’s not waste it, ladies! Let’s _get_ wasted!”

The esteemed Dr. Martin grabbed the fresh shot that magically appeared, downing it in a single toss.

“Whoa, that’s good.” Linda hopped out of her chair and twirled, cobalt skirt swirling around her legs. “Come on, ladies. Let’s dance!”

Chloe racked her muted brain cells while brushing mangled pineapple chunks off the iridescent, midnight-blue paillettes sheathing her short-sleeved top. “I thought Amenadiel was off tracking down,” a quick glance at the dance floor confirmed Ella was still gyrating out of earshot, “backup. You know, the celestial kind.”

“He was.” Linda corrected herself, swaying to the relentless, pounding beat. “I mean, he is. A few siblings already popped by the house to meet Charlie, so Amenadiel figure it’d be okay to bring him along. Boy, self-actualization’s got them all aflutter.”

“Ha!” She half snorted, half cackled. “ _Aflutter_ , get it?!”

“And let me tell you,” Linda held up a finger, “angels ask a lot of questions. Like, _a lot_.”

“Pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding, teething, talking, pooping, child development theories,” Linda ticked off on her fingers, feet still dancing, “early education options, flight training, will we teach him to sing.”

“That one’s from Castiel, by the way,” she clarified, still doing a jig. Maze rolled her eyes, muttering, “ _Of course_ it is.”

Linda suddenly realized she ran out of fingers.

Reaching past Chloe - who snatched up her fruity drink and leaned back - Linda grabbed Maze’s hand and plucked out her glass. She set it down as Maze looked on, bemused.

Stretched out across the bar on tiptoes, Linda resumed ticking off on Maze’s fingers.

“Nature versus nurture, have we picked out colleges yet, can they take Charlie flying, what about a sleepover in Heaven, and on and on _and on.”_ A note of horror crept into her voice. “They. Just. _Don’t_. _STOP._ ”

“I finally broke down and showed them Google.”

Letting go of Maze’s hand and sliding off the bar, Linda did another hip-shaking spin. “Best decision I ever made! Have questions? No problem! There’s Google, have at it.”

“That’s angels for you,” Maze knowingly asserted, easing back in her seat and reacquiring her drink. “Have to have a say in _everything_.”

“Wait,” Chloe frowned. “I thought Heaven had ESPN. Shouldn’t they also have internet and WiFi? How could they not know about Google?”

“Who knows?” Linda threw up her hands. “Right now, don’t know, don’t care. It’s Ladies Night! Come on,” she waved at a bouncing Ella. “The music calls!”

Chloe and Maze shared a grin, watching Linda skip off to join their booty-shaking forensic scientist currently owning the dance floor.

 _I needed this_ , Chloe abruptly realized, sobering a bit. The simple joy of getting out and having fun. Spending a night not worrying about, well, _anything_. Just enjoying the company of good, trusted friends. She leaned towards Maze.

“Thanks, Maze. I think I really needed this,” she professed, grateful.

“No problem, Decker.” Maze aimed a thumb at herself. “Fun, remember?”

“Here’s to Ladies Night,” Maze proposed, raising her scotch.

“To Ladies Night,” Chloe smiled, lofting her colorful drink. They clinked glasses, sharing a companionable sip.

They could go back to worrying, planning and researching tomorrow.

Tonight, the sky was limitless.

**********

Michael casually leaned against the upper level’s black railing, a hand tucked in a slim-tailored trouser pocket, the other loosely holding two fingers of whiskey, neat.

Well aware of the sharp, alluring figure he cut in his crisp, deep burgundy suit and golden hair, Michael ignored legions of intrigued, lustful male and female looks from the pulsing nightclub’s patrons.

A dismissive smile tasted arrogant, supple lips as mesmerizing sapphire eyes flatly stared right through yet another eagerly approaching cocky suitor.

He wasn’t here for pleasure, not tonight. No, tonight was for something completely different.

Not that he’d indulge with mortals, in any case, Michael thought, a tiny corner of awareness impassively noting the attractive, dark haired millennial slowly slip from self-assurance to confusion then to crestfallen, and finally veer off into the anonymous crowd, attempting to save face.

Michael didn’t hate human beings, not by a long shot. Far from it, in fact. After all, God created them. By that virtue alone, they deserved respect, he acknowledged, rolling a mouthful of smoky, peaty whiskey around his tongue.

But Michael didn’t go out of his way to consort with them either, not even in everlasting Heaven. Humans had their place, and celestials had their own, each balancing the other.

Symmetry and equilibrium. _That’s_ what he craved, what Creation needed.

 _Besides_ , Michael reasoned, indifferently waving off a barely standing red-headed female’s swaying, ill-conceived attempt to engage his interest, _they’re so_ _utterly_ _basic._

Although on Earth for just a short while, he was pretty sure he nailed the current parlance.

A dispassionate gaze roved the jumbled cacophony of sweating, hormonal bodies below, drinking and dancing, talking and laughing, kissing and crying, heedlessly oblivious to the divinity in their presence.

Ironically, the three females in the club that were actually aware of divinity’s reality were also oblivious, chattering, imbibing and dancing away with the rest.

Of the three, he was only truly interested in one.

Michael sipped his drink, closely observing a boozy Chloe Decker pick bits of squashed fruit from her top.

 _Hmm_. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, he expected from the human that so thoroughly captivated his twin’s heart. But he had expected, well, _more_. ****

The problem, Michael critically reflected, was that nothing in particular stood out.

A seedling of unease pricked, a tiny, thorny branch rooting for purchase. Shifting against the railing, he absently swirled the rich caramel-colored liquid in his glass.

 _Why_ , Michael wondered, a crease faintly marring his brow, _does that bother me?_

She was attractive, of course, Michael clinically noted from the upper level, but in an unremarkable mortal way. Current interactions with the believer, the doctor and the demon indicated an easygoing demeanor, at least with known companions. She also adequately cared for her child in the usual human manner.

Additionally, her chosen profession suggested intelligence, bravery and a drive to protect others, the celestial acknowledged, watching her drink with the demon while her other companions danced.

All in all, Chloe Decker seemed a perfectly acceptable, albeit commonplace, example of humanity.

On that fairly unexceptional surface, absolutely _nothing_ screamed Devil magnate.

And here in this noisy, packed, booming club, that needled Michael to no end.

The uneasy prick burrowed further. Thorns dug at the disquieting notion that his twin, now champion of damned souls and enthralled suitor of the seemingly unremarkable, had undergone a fundamental shift at his core, with needs and desires now running more than merely surface deep.

Space around the angel visibly widened as crowding partiers shifted away, unconsciously reacting to unbidden, roiling energy spilling forth.

 _Not possible_ , Michael bristled, resoundingly spurning those unsettling, prickly thoughts. Detached calm now disrupted, liquid gold bubbled in sapphire eyes as he yanked that irksome, thorny seedling, ruthlessly stomping it into oblivion.

Amid a clustered knot of humanity mobbing the far side of the lower level's congested bar, Zachariah glanced up at the sudden low-level spurt of power, permanent glower clashing with his colorful, loud Hawaiian shirt. Jeremiel, elegant in a sleeveless, cream-colored, knee-skimming sheath, shot him a concerned look from her high-top table by the DJ’s booth near the dance floor.

The demon, Michael noticed with a faint grimace, straightened in her seat, then scanned the club, frowning.

Cursing under his breath, Michael reined in his leaking power, signaling Zachariah with an unobtrusive nod towards the demon.

A hushed whisper of malleable energy brushed him, muting his celestial radiance while subtly modifying his features. At her table below, a similarly dampened Jeremiel now sported a noticeably less divine aura.

Zachariah’s illusion secure, the angelic trio observed the demon hop off her seat and take a few steps away from the packed bar. Her mostly alert, only slightly inebriated gaze swept the crowd, skimming right over their masked presence while probing the club’s darkened corners.

On the upper level, partiers slowly eased back into place, refilling Michael’s powered-down space.

After several uneventful seconds the demon shrugged, temporary wariness abated. Returning to her companion, they exchanged words while gesturing at the dance floor. Moments later the demon slugged back the remains of her drink, then joined her shimmying friends.

Annoying loss, however brief, of his normally exemplary self-control was yet another crime to lay at his twin’s feet. Time for doubts was long past, Michael scolded himself, customary unflappable composure reasserted.

Regardless of any modicum of unverified personal growth, the Devil still spat in the face of God’s plan with unsanctioned soul saving. That travesty, above all else, was unforgivable.

Their target, now watching her friends dance, drank alone. It was time.

Michael raised his whiskey, a small salute aimed below. He then loosed an infinitesimal sliver of narrowly targeted power, lightly settling it over Chloe Decker and those few in close proximity. Within seconds, she and the surrounding patrons unknowingly drifted into a hazy, oblivious stupor while the rest of the club pulsed its frenzied beat.

Glower lessened, Zachariah acknowledged the signal. Pushing up from his seat, he elbowed through drunken patrons until reaching a spot just behind their mark.

Once in place, Zachariah drew a syringe from a deep pocket in his khakis. Keeping it hidden in hand, he nodded up at Michael, who then discretely signaled Jeremiel.

Jeremiel's power delicately stretched out, enveloping Chloe Decker in a gentle, numbing cocoon of painlessness, softly illuminating the network of blue veins underneath her skin. Zachariah stepped forward, plunging the syringe into a lit vein within her unfeeling inner forearm while weaving an illusion replicating the bar’s normal liveliness.

Drained of a small portion of free will, unwittingly docile Chloe Decker unconsciously brushed at her arm as Zachariah eased out the now blood-filled syringe and faded back.

The entire operation had taken less than 30 seconds.

Task accomplished, Michael and Zachariah withdrew their powers. Jeremiel followed suit after directing a final healing speck towards their mark. The affected patrons blithely resumed talking, laughing and drinking, easily slipping right back into the club’s boisterous rhythm. A quick glance at the dance floor showed the demon carousing away, none the wiser.

As Zachariah and Jeremiel headed towards the exit, Michael carefully scrutinized their subject.

Chloe Decker shook her blond head, vague confusion gracing her features. She grabbed a napkin, blotting a small droplet of residual blood from the healed pinprick on her forearm.

As she wiped the blood, Michael watched her examine the glass-laden bar, frown, then lean over and scope out the scuffed, sticky surrounding floor. Straightening, she brushed a thumb over the smooth, unblemished flesh of her arm, then glanced around at the surrounding patrons. Assessing eyes catalogued details, clearly attempting to piece together something that wasn’t currently making complete sense in her world.

 _Hmm_. The Devil’s love was significantly more astute than most, Michael noted, a thread of admiration rising. The rest of the manipulated partiers simply picked up where they left off, yet she intuitively knew something was amiss despite the well-crafted illusion.

Perhaps there _was_ something more to this human after all, the angel allowed.

 _A shame,_ Michael thought, dismissing the mortal with a single, regretful shake of his head. Descending the stairs to the lower level, crowds instinctively parted as he strode towards the exit.

Whether there was more to her or not, Chloe Decker would soon be the unwitting instrument of the Devil’s destruction.


	8. Chapter 8

Jarring, discordant notes crashed and burned, tugging blistering angst from the very air itself, then swiftly rose as harmonies soared to new heights, wrangling shiny hope out of pure hopelessness.

Raw, passionate runs feverishly sprinted through octaves, fortissimos waxing then ebbing, giving way to gentle decrescendos. Somehow, someway, all those dissonant parts melded perfectly into a haunting, richly moving piece.

Quietly absorbing the exquisitely soulful composition resonating through the cavernous, white-marbled, perfectly spherical theater, Lilith candidly observed that the Devil hadn’t missed a beat in the centuries since they’d last seen each other.

Forearms propped along the mezzanine’s sturdy, polished chrome railing ringing the entire circular structure, wide-set, gold-flecked emerald eyes took in the spotlighted figure far below expertly caressing the Steinway’s black and white keys on the otherwise vacant, soccer-sized black stage, playing as if his immortal life depended upon it.

A smile tempted full lips, unveiling dimpled cheeks in a heart-shaped face, as Lilith appreciated the impassioned music filling inky, voluminous shadows encasing the empty venue.

Shutting her eyes, she let the sounds wash over her, painting vivid tableaus she alone could see.

Lilith decided to enjoy this as much as possible. Several recent military tours in global hotspots, plus whatever otherworldly problems Heaven requested she discretely handle, didn’t leave much time to catch such stellar performances.

 _I wouldn’t have it any other way_ , Lilith firmly avowed.

She was a warrior, after all, first and foremost.

Lost in the music, the generally unacknowledged First Human serenely nodded along, bronze, shoulder-length, corkscrew curls bobbing.

Most called Adam and Eve the first humans - Adam the first man and Eve the first woman.

But most were wrong.

Before God crafted Adam from the earth, then got lazy and used a rib, he created her – Lilith. A human with a touch of the divine.

A dash of nostalgia sprinkled her smile, corners of closed, thickly lashed eyes softly ruching at bygone ancient history. She was probably more of a homo sapien prototype, honestly. A beta test of a discarded design. It didn’t bother her, though – she was one of a kind. Unique throughout Heaven, Hell and Earth.

Lilith preferred it that way.

Thanks to her one-off status, she had the run of all three – the Silver City, Hell _and_ Earth. Plus, if bored she could always vacay in any of the endless alternate realities jam-packing Creation.

Like Adam she was fashioned from earth. Unlike Adam, however, God imbued her with a single, miniscule particle of celestial essence.

And that, ultimately, sparked her downfall, subjectively speaking.

 _One person’s fall_ , Lilith mused, still gently swaying with the Devil’s torrential musical storm, _is another’s freedom_.

That lone particle not only gave her exceptional strength, speed, agility, perfect health, accelerated healing, and senses dialed to twenty on a scale of one to ten – not quite angelic level, however, definitely superhuman - but it also gave her near immortality coupled with an unavoidably long view of everything.

With all her God-given gifts, how could she simply waste away in that ever-perfect Garden, never tested?

Created after her but without celestial essence, Adam had been a total snooze, irritatingly content with God’s early, rigid mandates. She, however, needed more, a purpose, the freedom to find her own way.

Lilith supposed that’s why she and the fallen angel currently tickling the ivories hit it off so well. They both craved free will, then they both got the boot. He chafed against God’s early rules while she stewed in that gilded Garden cage. A flourishing, extravagant, everything-you-could-ever-want paradise, to be sure. Yet still a prison, nonetheless.

The only real difference between them? She, surprisingly, wasn’t banished from Heaven.

Speaking of tickling ivories, Lilith suddenly realized the music stopped and the baked air shifted.

Luminous emerald eyes opened. The Devil nonchalantly, ever-so-elegantly lounged in the plum, crushed velvet seat next to her, long legs propped on the shiny railing, feet crossed. Smoke wreathed his face, trailing from the glowing cigarette betwixt two fingers, left arm casually tucked behind his head.

 _Some soldier_ , Lilith snorted. Normally, _no one_ got the drop on her. She blamed the music – she had always been a sucker for passionate piano pieces.

All in all, Lucifer – puffing away sans jacket and vest, two buttons of his crisp white shirt unbuttoned - looked like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Eyeing him, Lilith knew better. His playing spoke volumes.

Plus, Michael sent her down here so the Devil definitely had cares.

“Michael’s up to something,” she offered, sitting next to the King of Hell. “And, apparently, since I’m here, he wants you to know he’s up to something, which makes it a distraction, a trap or both.”

“I know,” an elegant finger ashed the cigarette. “He’s likely cross over damned souls getting saved and popping into Heaven unscheduled.”

“Uh,” Lilith’s jaw sagged. “ _What?_ ”

Lucifer took a puff and leaned his head back, blowing a serpentine stream of smoke.

“He didn’t tell you?” Another puff. “Of course he didn’t. Let’s catch you up, shall we?” Another smoky stream.

“Went to Los Angeles, opened a club – Lux, you’d love it – met a detective, went into therapy – I know, I know! _So_ LA - decided to help catch criminals with the police, butted heads with Amenadiel – he tried to kill me, by the way,” Lucifer flicked the cigarette stub onto the veined, black-marbled floor, then patted his pockets. “I got shot but Dad brought me back, Amenadiel lost his wings, Mum escaped Hell and popped to Earth for a visit-“

“ _What?!_ ” Lilith didn’t think her jaw could go any lower. The floor was pretty much the limit. “Holy-Is she here? Are we at DefCon One??”

“It’s alright,” the Devil reassured her. “I gave Mum her own universe so we’re good.”

“Her own universe.” Lilith’s head spun. Lucifer was still patting his trousers for more cigarettes. Dazed, she unzipped a pocket of the black combat vest layered over her short-sleeved, forest green T-shirt, pulled out a pack and offered it up.

“Excellent! Thanks.” Extracting a fresh cigarette, he whipped out his silver lighter and lit it. “Long story. It involves Rae Rae’s stolen sword.” He peered at her closely. “Are you sure you want to know? You look a bit green.”

Lilith had gone ice cold. The Divine Goddess escaped Hell and had run rampant on Earth. And Earth was still intact.

Lucifer was right – she didn’t want to know.

“You know what? I’m good.” Sweat congealed on her icy flesh. “You handled it, she’s gone, I’m good.”

The Devil shrugged. “Anyway, Amenadiel knocked up my therapist, Maze decided to be a bounty hunter, I found out the Detective makes me mortally vulnerable, as in I actually bleed, and Dad put her in my path. Got pissed, got over it. Amenadiel got his wings back, the Detective and I fell in love,” …

“ _What?!_ ” Okay, now she felt like a broken record. The tiniest, non-flabbergasted scrap of brain recording this calmly delivered stream of potential disasters vowed to never again dodge celestial contretemps for so long.

It all went to Hell without her.

… “I killed Cain, the Detective saw my Devil face and ran off, Eve came back and we started up again,” …

Elbows propped on black-jeaned knees, Lilith’s forehead hit her hands. She’d survived all manner of bloodthirsty, vicious combat in her extremely long, preternatural life. Hell, she tamed the effing beasts of the fricking night, for crying out loud.

But all this? Runaway Goddess, fallen Amenadiel, angelic impregnation, dead Cain – _Finally,_ Lilith loosed a satisfied grunt at that happy occurrence, _some good news_. _Couldn’t have happened to a worse guy_ – mortally vulnerable Devil in love, and God knows – Lilith cast a disgruntled eye upward – what else had her hyperventilating.

… “the Detective also came back, she and a priest tried to send me back here but she relented and he failed. Maze fell for Eve,” …

Lilith abruptly straightened back up in her seat.

… “Eve let demons loose in LA and they tried to steal Amenadiel’s baby to replace me in Hell. We sorted out that mess and Eve left to find herself. The Detective said she loved me, I came back here to keep things in check, then started a bunch of new programs for demons and therapy for nonviolent, non-murdery souls so they could free their guilt and get into Heaven.”

“There. All caught up.” Lucifer took a drag on the cigarette, blowing a series of spinning smoke rings into the blackened stillness.

“Honestly, it’s that last bit that’s probably got Michael in such a twist.”

Lilith eased back in her plush plum seat, processing. Reeling, but processing. “It couldn’t be something simple, could it? Like wrangling a batch of hell beasts trampling Purgatory,” a wistful sigh, “or maybe even whipping out heavy artillery and mowing down several hundred reanimated bodies running amok.“

Ah, the pure, unfiltered pleasures of a good, old fashion melee. Really, she briefly reflected while digesting Lucifer’s abbreviated rundown, between their beastly dads and her own proclivities, it was no wonder her demonic descendants thrilled over physical violence.

Alas, _no_. The Devil had to make it complicated, play against type and save souls. Not to mention everything else that went down while she was off soldiering with humans.

“Damn it, Lucifer. If you already know Michael’s up to something, why haven’t you taken action?” Lilith conveniently decided not to mention demons possibly working with Michael’s contingent. She’d investigate that angle herself. Potentially traitorous or not, they were still her offspring, after all.

“I haven’t quite figured out exactly what he’s up to yet, unfortunately,” Lucifer admitted. “But I will, especial- _Oh!_ ”

The Devil abruptly stopped. Dropping black Ferragamo-shod feet to the marbled floor, he sat up, astonishment stamped across his features.

“What?” Lilith prompted, frowning, fingers rhythmically drumming the seat’s chrome armrests.

“Well now,” he mused, “that’s interesting. Excuse me.” Lucifer stood, crushing out the half-smoked cigarette on the floor. Fussing with his shirt sleeves, he looked around, muttering. “Jacket. Where’s my jacket?”

“Lucifer, what is it? Is it your twin?” If fighting was on the table, there was no way she was sitting it out.

“Do you need help?” Eagerness propelled Lilith to her black combat-booted feet.

“No, no,” a distracted wave in her direction, “nothing like that. A truly unexpected prayer, actually.” Surprise lingering, Lucifer turned towards the mezzanine’s automatic sliding glass door exit. “Please excuse me, I really do need to see to this.”

With that, the Devil unfurled angelic wings and zoomed off.

Now alone in the immense, darkened theater, Lilith boxed up today’s sucker-punch of celestial revelations. She’d unpack them later with vodka. Especially that doozy involving Mazikeen and Eve.

 _Bottles and bottles of vodka_ , she promised, insides clenching with dusty, long-shelved instincts. Lilith knew her daughter, the one that resembled her the most. She also knew Eve. Whatever was going on between them would undoubtedly end poorly for Mazikeen.

 _Not my problem_ , Lilith admonished, determinedly re-shelving those instincts while heading for the exit. Mazikeen lived her own immortal life for eons. She didn’t need anyone looking out for her, especially an absentee parent.

 _Besides_ , Lilith shrugged, leaving the mezzanine and turning right towards the hugely outsized, chrome and glass escalator further down the wide, white-marbled corridor, _I’m just not the mothering kind_.

But she was the troubleshooting kind.

There were Lilim to question, plots to uncover, and it was time to get to work.

 _And afterwards_ , the First Human speculated, _maybe a little side trip to Los Angeles is in order._

Disembarking the escalator, she exited the thoroughly modern, recently built theater through a massive, three-stories high glass bank of doors. Specks of ash danced through stifling gray air as Lilith paused once outside, hands on trim hips, getting her bearings.

Standing at the top of three hundred perfectly cut stone steps leading up to the alabaster structure, alert eyes carefully scrutinized the no longer quite so crushingly bleak, newly developed entertainment district down below.

With the enormous orbed theater as its hub, the vast district spiraled out as far as the First Human could see, actual vibrant colors – _Colors in Hell_ , Lilith marveled, an amazed head-shake sending ash particles spinning - washing the abyss.

 _Lucifer’s been busy_ , she noted, taking in a wealth of boutiques, restaurants and bars, fitness centers, cafes, spas, and other venues lining the surrounding cobblestone streets. A distinctly non-Hell-like undercurrent sizzled as demons leisurely strolled about, no spurting blood, entrails or to-the-death fights in sight.

All in all, Lilith thoroughly approved. Demons needed more to live for than merely torturing souls, death and destruction.

 _And so do I_. Mind made up, the lithe, athletic ancient being easily jogged down the lengthy steps, bronze curls bouncing. After poking around Hell, a short breather would definitely be in order.

 _Just for a few days_ , Lilith decided, hitting street level and swerving right towards her blacked out Ducati Diavel 1260S parked a block away in front of Ray’s Demonic Diner.

 _Los Angeles is a perfect place to recharge_ , a firm nod concluded. An annoyed swat dislodged a particularly clingy ash blob from her vest as she nimbly wove through meandering foot traffic.

“Great-to-the-nth-power Grandma? Is that you??” Hands and claws scrabbled for hellphones, frantically texting, posting and messaging as recognition dawned.

Lilith blithely blew past stunned spit-takes and terrified yips as demons furiously scattered, diving out of her surefooted path. A satisfied, knowing smile unfolded at that terror-inducing reception. Good. Apparently, her last visit was still indelibly etched into her descendants’ memories. That should loosen plotting tongues, forked or not.

 _And since Lucifer lived in LA,_ a strong hand swept back several errant corkscrew locks as she reached the sleek motorcycle, _I should really check for any angelic or demonic rumblings in that area._

Shrugging off her combat vest, the First Human stuffed it into the tail bag firmly strapped to her Ducati. From its spot draped over the seat, Lilith snagged a retro-style black leather, green silk-lined jacket with zippered vents and two horizontal, green racing strips banding each sleeve.

 _Just to ensure humanity’s safe from immortal subterfuge_ , Lilith reasoned, slipping on the jacket and firmly ducking those aforementioned dusty, dormant instincts teetering on the edge of the shelf where they were crammed.

 _Mazikeen has nothing to do with it_ , she argued, grabbing her matte black helmet with ‘Lilith’ emblazoned across the back in iridescent emerald flames matching her eyes. 

“Holy Hell! Lilith’s here! Why wasn’t that in the daily news blast?!”

“Crap! It’s the Mother of Demons! _RUN!!_ ”

 _Absolutely nothing at all_ , she doubled down, ignoring shocked, food-spewing exclamations from a couple formerly loitering demons, tossed McBeast burgers flying as they fled down the street, whimpers trailing.

Helmet secured and jacket zipped, she mounted the Ducati, hit the ignition and punched in urban mode.

 _Right_ , Lilith snorted, getting in gear and revving the throttle. _If I say that enough, I may even eventually believe it_.

Like it or not, she was going to see her daughter.

And if she was extremely lucky, Mazikeen might even not try to kill her.

**********

 _Hmm_ , the Devil pondered, intrigued yet keenly bewildered as he silently observed the human nestled on the expensive Italian leather couch in his spacious penthouse suite.

Hands casually tucked in his pockets, Lucifer lingered in front of the private elevator. He hadn’t been spotted yet. The mortal was apparently focused on scrolling through the smartphone in hand, one foot rhythmically bobbing along with whatever played through earbuds paired with the phone.

Thoughtful eyes wandered over his sheet-draped earthly belongings bathed in afternoon light courtesy of the expansive window wall leading to the open-aired balcony overlooking the city. Lucifer took in the room he hadn’t seen in decades as he debated next steps in this wholly unanticipated turn of events.

On one hand, he could confront the situation head on, proceeding as if this human truly comprehended that he was the _actual_ Devil. Which he was, of course.

On the _other_ hand, although he never lied about his identity, there was an infinitesimal chance the individual might have simply referenced him in prayer without the key, fundamental understanding that he really _was_ the one and only Devil.

 _Well, this is quite the pickle_. Lips pursed, hands still in pockets, Lucifer dithered further, pacing a couple soundless steps back and forth by the elevator, signature over-the-top chutzpah uncharacteristically subdued.

Normally, he wouldn’t care. Just stroll on in, own the room – well, he really _did_ own this particular well-appointed room - and get down to business. But dealing with this human had complicated ramifications.

As in Detective-level ramifications.

Plus, damn it, he cared. He cared very much.

 _Right. Enough dillydallying_ , Lucifer chided, fretting with his cufflinks, then with his tailored black jacket. He was answering a prayer to the Devil. However this went down, he’d handle it. With care.

Exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Lucifer ignored a pretzeling bite of anxiety, steeled himself then strode into the room.

Passing the softly backlit, still well-stocked bar – _Maze’s doing_ , appreciative, twitching lips noted - and covered piano, he pulled up next to the streamlined, fawn-colored couch, avoiding the white sheet bunched on the floor, and waited.

The mortal, still scrolling, remained unaware of the angel in the room.

“Ahem,” Lucifer coughed.

Nothing.

“ _Ahem!_ ” He coughed louder.

An unconcerned, cursory upward glance snapped into wide-eyed excitement.

“Lucifer!” Trixie pulled out her earbuds, dropped the phone, hopped up from the couch and threw herself at him for a hug. “It worked! You’re here!”

“Er,” Lucifer tried untangling himself from Trixie’s joyful hug. Nope, impossible. She held on too tight.

Sighing, he gave up and hugged her back, anxiety softly unspooling into a cozy glow. “Hello, child.”

“You actually came when I called. I can’t believe it really worked! I’m so glad you’re back,” the small human enthused, eyes bright.

Lucifer patted her on the back as she gave one last squeeze, then let go. “Yes, yes. Well, it’s good to see you. Tell me, what are you doing here?” He checked his watch. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

The girl sat back down on the couch next to her backpack and looked at him. “School let out a half hour ago, and I was looking for you, silly.

“Aren’t your parents worried about you?”

“Nah,” a pony-tailed head shake from the mini mortal. “They think I’m hanging out with a friend for the next two hours.”

“And you got here how, exactly?”

“Seriously?” He could practically hear the internal monologue regarding adults and stupid questions. “Uber. What else?”

“You know,” the girl continued, a stern look at odds with her sunny T-shirt, “not saying goodbye when you left was pretty lame.” Arms crossed, she leaned back, slumping deeper into the couch.

“I know it was, and I really am sorry about that. At the time, it couldn’t be helped.” A touch of formality unconsciously smartened a perennially straight posture as the King of Hell extended a heartfelt amends. “It was never my intent to cause any distress, child. Please accept my utmost apologizes.”

Trixie eyed him for a moment, drawn brows sizing him up. Lucifer patiently waited while she considered his overdue entreaty.

Another moment, a slight scrunch of a nose, then a small half-grin. “Okay,” the girl allowed. ”I accept your apology. _This_ time. But no more leaving without goodbyes, alright?”

The Devil unobtrusively blew a tiny, relieved sigh. Hand over heart, he offered, “You have my word.”

Treading carefully, Lucifer asked, “So. How did you know I’d show up here today? This trip to LA was not only unscheduled but a complete surprise.” No lies there, just some judicious, deliberate wording.

A quizzical look shot his way. “I prayed to you. That’s how it works, isn’t it?”

Torn between bemusement, caution and swelling emotions, Lucifer hesitated.

 _Not possible. She can’t know_ , he argued, warily eyeing the little urchin. The Detective wouldn’t have let that particular cat out of the bag, would she?

“Why do you think I'm capable of answering prayers?” he hedged, threading a potential minefield. “And who, exactly, do you think you prayed to in the first place?”

Arms still crossed, Trixie frowned at him. “To you. The Devil. You _are_ the real Devil, right? That’s what you’ve always claimed, and mom says you never lie. That hasn’t changed, has it?”

“Yes, that’s right, and no, it hasn’t changed.” Lucifer unbuttoned his jacket with one hand, kicked aside the sheet pooled on the floor, then perched on the couch’s armrest next to the child.

“Okay, then. I heard your brother talking with mom and Dr. Martin about how angels hear prayers if you use their names. So I decided to try it.”

"Eavesdropping! Oh, well done!" the Devil applauded, impressed. Now acutely curious, he just _had_ to know. “What makes you think it’s all real, and that I'm responding to a prayer instead of simply swinging by to wrap up some business?”

“Charlie sprouted wings when I watched him for Dr. Martin. That was pretty much a dead giveaway.” An easy shrug followed. “After that I started paying close attention when mom, Maze, Amenadiel and Dr. Martin were together.”

“Um,” Lucifer cleverly replied, unexpectedly stymied.

“Obviously, I _totally_ freaked for a few minutes, then went to get Dr. Martin, but ended up overhearing a bunch of things I was _clearly_ not supposed to hear. Lots of discussion about Heaven, demons and angels,” hands thrown in the air, “and honestly, I didn’t understand all of it. But they kept talking about you going to Hell and trying to figure out ways to get you back.”

“Right.” The proverbial cat was definitely out of the proverbial bag.

Lucifer eyed the girl, now fiddling with the phone in hand, who was casually conversing with the Devil while sitting on the Devil’s expensive couch in the Devil’s luxury penthouse.

“So why aren’t you scared, child? You know I’m the Devil, King of Hell, ruler of demons, torturer of the damned.” Itching curiosity ratcheting higher, Lucifer swept a hand at the surroundings, “yet here you are, sitting next to evil personified, without a care in the world. Aren’t you scared?”

“Are you alright?” Concerned, he leaned closer to the child now fallen on her side, holding her stomach and …

 _What the bloody hell?_ _A seizure, perhaps?_ He frowned, considering the girl.

 _Is that,_ wonder slowly dawned on the Devil _, is that CACKLING??_

“Hahahahahahahaha!!” a breath, then another round. “Hahahahahahahahahaha!”

_THUD!_

Trixie laughed herself right off the couch.

“Hello? Small human?” Clueless as to the source of the all-engulfing hilarity, Lucifer waved a hand back and forth, then snapped his fingers a few times, attempting to get her attention. “ _Hellooo!_ ”

The girl rolled on the ground, still hooting and clutching her sides.

“Oh, for Hell’s sake,” Lucifer muttered under his breath. Flummoxed and more than a bit disgruntled, he impatiently waited as her amusement tapered off into sniffling giggles.

“What was that all about?” he asked as Trixie sat up on the floor, wiping her eyes and brushing back her ponytail.

“You, silly!” She grinned at him, brimming self-assurance. “There’s _no way_ you’re evil. Weird sometimes, and now I know why, but definitely not evil.”

Utterly blindsided, Lucifer gaped at the young girl who had no fear of Hell’s king. A moment passed, then another as he struggled with unanticipated, offhand acceptance.

“Well, this is embarrassing.” Standing up from his perch on the couch’s armrest, he made his way to the bar. Once there, he liberated the first bottle sighted, grabbed a crystal glass and poured a very stiff drink.

Slugging it back without tasting it, he poured another then turned back to the child. He leaned against the bar, glass in hand. “I must be losing my touch. That’s not the usual reaction I’ve come to expect when one learns that I’m the actual Devil.”

“Uncontrolled urination? Quite often.” Fingers rapidly drummed the black granite counter. “Fainting? About half the time. Frantic praying to Dad?” The glass-holding hand gestured towards the girl. “Well, that’s God to you I suppose, but nearly always. Even the atheists, by the way.”

Another sip, then, “Screaming and sheer, abject, cowering terror? Absolutely.”

“But laughter?” An incredulous pause at this uniquely atypical response. Swarming amazement, relief, confusion, joy and other emotions buzzed a dizzying, burgeoning song as he faced the child. “Now that’s a first.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Trixie clamored up off the floor and back onto the couch, then twisted into a cross-legged position.

“I mean, you’ve stolen my sandwiches, driven me to school, played Monopoly with us, saved me and mom several times, helped people when you didn’t think anyone was watching, and caught killers with mom, dad and the police.”

“If you were evil, you wouldn’t have done any of those things,” she continued. “Evil doesn’t care,” an earnest look in his direction, “but you do. _You_ care.”

“And _we_ care about you.” Arms crossed again and brow serious, Trixie solemnly asked, “So. Why’d you leave us, and why haven’t you come back? The truth, please. I’m nearly a teenager, I can handle it.”

Thoroughly, unexpectedly undone, Lucifer set his drink down on the bar, ambled back to the couch and unceremoniously plopped down next to the child. 

“Here.” Trixie unzipped the front pocket of her backpack, pulled out a small pack of tissues and held it out to him.

Confused, Lucifer asked, “What’s this for?”

“You’re tearing up.”

“No, I’m not,” the Devil looked away with a suspicious sniff.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am _not_.”

Trixie simply held out the pack.

“ _Bloody hell_ ,” the Devil muttered under his breath.

“Give me those,” he grabbed the pack from her hand, liberating a tissue. “Okay,” ignoring her smug grin, he dabbed the corner of a watering eye, “maybe I am.”

“Fine,” Lucifer relented, a hand crumpling the used tissue. “I returned to Hell to prevent demon hordes from overrunning Los Angeles, then remained for the same reason.”

“Demons,” the girl considered, squinting. “Like Maze, right?”

“Definitely _not_ like Maze,” an emphatic head-shake accompanied an even more emphatic hand-slash. “Maze would gladly die before she’d let anything happen to you. Meanwhile, hordes of demons would gladly die trying to rip you apart.”

“So they’re all bad?”

“Well, no actually, they’re not,” Lucifer admitted. “They’re as diverse as any mortals, but there _is_ a small faction dead set on wreaking havoc among humanity, hence the extended-through-all-eternity stay in Hell for yours truly.”

“Oh, don't worry! Maze and Amenadiel would never let anything happen to you or your mom, you know,” Hell’s king hastily proclaimed, addressing the spot of concern flecking her brow. “And neither would I.”

“I know.” Concern ebbed. “Also, I’m training with Maze and she gave me,” digging in her backpack, the girl pulled out a familiar, deadly weapon, “ _this_.”

“Ah, yes. A hell-forged blade.” Lucifer took the gleaming, proffered weapon, turning it over in deft hands. “One of Maze’s personal blades, actually. Very nice.”

Returning it to Trixie, who shoved it back in her pack, he warned, “If there’s even a hint of trouble, keep it with you at all times. That’s a blade forged in the bowels of Hell itself so it has the power to evict demons from possessed humans, kill demons in their own bodies and even kill angels, should the need ever arise.”

“Wait,” a brow puckered. “So that’s not really Maze? She’s _possessing_ someone?”

“What? No, no!” Lucifer shook his head. “That’s really Maze in her own body. I flew her up here years ago when I first got to LA.”

“Oh.” Trixie looked a tad disappointed, an amused Devil noted. “I mean, good. It’s good that’s really her. But possession? That’s actually pretty cool when you think about it,” she confessed. “You could _totally_ freak people out with that trick!”

“Lilith, the very first human God created, is her mother, so many of her descendants are human in appearance, like Maze. But others are not,” Lucifer explained, “more like the typical rendition of ogres, and maybe trolls.”

Pausing a beat, he added, “Also gargoyles. They can be quite entertaining. _Oooo!_ There’s a video you should see. You’ll love it – it’s hysterical!” With any luck, the Devil snickered, Gally would go viral twice.

“At any rate, that’s why I’ve been gone, and also why I have to go back.”

“You know, I must say I’m surprise you didn’t simply confront your mom or Maze about all this,” Lucifer expressed. “Why haven’t you?”

Trixie scratched the side of her nose, then cocked her head, clearly debating the question.

“I guess the more I overheard,” she slowly started, “the more everyone seemed to overcomplicate things. Trying to change your mind, luring you back for more visits, searching for prophesies, could other realities hold some clues, checking into magical options.“

"Anyway, if mom, Maze and the others realize I know the truth, they’d worry about me handling the knowledge when they’re already stressed.”

“I never ask anyone for their help,” Lucifer pointed out, frowning.

“Well, maybe you should,” Trixie countered. “’Cuz it feels like _you’re_ overcomplicating things, too.”

“How am _I_ overcomplicating things? _I’m_ the one stuck in Hell,” he objected, peeved at that ludicrous accusation.

“When I was younger my parents gave me time-outs in my room,” she explained. “Instead of time limits, they’d tell me to think about what I’d done, consider the consequences and implications, then come out when I was ready so we could talk about it. It was up to me to decide.”

“Hang on a minute. So you’re suggesting I’ve been stewing for untold millennia in the biggest _time-out_ in all of Creation?? Are you mad?” he exclaimed, pushing up off the couch.

 _Poor girl_ , the Devil lamented, shooting her a pitying glance after a few agitated steps. Clearly, learning Heaven and Hell are real unnerved her, forcing the most basic, simplistic distillations, right down to human levels. Maybe Dr. Linda could help the poor child.

“Did God actually _say_ you could never leave?”

A withering retort abruptly died as Lucifer froze mid-step. “Er, not in so many words, no,” he reluctantly admitted, facing her. “Dear old Dad’s not one for much talking. He prefers visions and portents as well as zapping you to wherever needed.”

“ _Ah!_ ” he held up a finger. “But he kept sending Amenadiel to drag me back whenever I popped to Earth for a visit. There! See? Proof he wants me in Hell!” the Devil crowed.

“No, no, hang on. Wait.” Lucifer rubbed a troubled brow. “Amenadiel admitted Dad never actually tasked him with returning me to Hell. My brother just assumed that’s what Dad wanted.”

 _Blast it! It shouldn’t be this complicated_ , Lucifer moodily protested. Dismay mounting, he retreated towards the backlit bar as Trixie slouched into the couch, tapping away on her phone. Why was verifying his Hellish destiny suddenly so maddeningly difficult? Something so straightforward, the cornerstone of his very existence since that damned Fall, shouldn’t be this troublesome to prove.

Reaching over the bar, he grabbed a single malt, eighteen-year-old Glenfiddich, then poured a fresh glass.

Distraught, Lucifer rolled tawny liquid hints of dried fruit and spices around his tongue while ransacking eons of memories, seeking incontrovertible vindication of a presumed destiny.

Thoroughly dissecting and discarding recollection after ancient recollection, an increasingly agitated Devil repeatedly came up empty. Jagged flames bloomed in bedeviled eyes as frustration surged, alternately melding with then fighting bewildering panic, both battling for dominance. Jittery sparks burst forth, violently raking an Armani-suited frame.

A low burst of energy streaked through the suite, jostling pictures and sending tchotchkes dancing.

“Uh, Lucifer?”

 _Could the child be right?_ _Have I been overcomplicating this?_ the Devil wondered amid riotous turmoil, slowly wandering towards the room’s center, sparks blazing into angry, curling flames.

Despite fears and assumptions, God had never actually prevented his leaving Hell. Or compelled his return, for that matter – Lucifer had always allowed an exasperated Amenadiel to not-so-gently haul his fashionable, custom-tailored self back to that suffocating pit.

And that vision of Mum’s empty cell? No accompanying return-to-Hell mandate manifested – they had all simply assumed. Dear old Dad never talked to his children any longer so all they could do was assume.

Was he deluding himself with assumptions, claiming an eternity in Hell, when alternatives abounded?

“Lucifer??”

 _Why?_ Lucifer brooded as encircling fire thrashed. _Why would I choose eternal damnation?_

It couldn’t be guilt, he reasoned. That albatross had been soundly beaten with the Detective’s help. Additionally, thanks to dual nature acceptance, no more unbidden, scratchy, patchy red complexion. Well, unless unleashing holy terror was necessary, he amended, tossing back his caramel-hued drink, then setting the glass on the nearby coffee table.

 _Or could it?_ _Could it actually_ be _guilt_ , the Devil debated, hellfire eyes staring blindly across the suite. Surrounding flames snapped, whirling as air vibrated with restless urgency.

Not guilt over humanities’ sins, of course – that was old news now, really. But perhaps another kind of guilt. And maybe – just _maybe_ \- a touch of fear.

_FOOM!_

A brilliant, incandescent celestial firestorm fully erupted, wholly engulfing the King of Hell, flames licking the high ceilings.

“ _Lucifer?!_ ”

Lucifer cast his penetrating gaze inward, a flick of power absently dousing the screeching fire alarm. Delving through unimagined depths of devilish conscience, he reached back as far as awareness allowed.

 _What’s this?_ An immeasurable, fathomless eternity of seconds uncovered an inflamed, pulsating kernel of, well, _something_.

Rebellion.

 _Absolutely not_ , the Devil huffed, indignant. He could quite honestly, unequivocally attest that he positively, categorically felt _no_ guilt for that failed Heavenly fray.

And yet that throbbing kernel buckled and twisted, sharp, illuminating cracks spidering across its crumbling surface.

 _Hmm_ , Lucifer gingerly prodded the warping mass, awareness spiking. Perhaps not the rebellion itself, he thought, absorbing sharp, stinging insight seeping through those widening cracks. Perhaps it involved unfortunately related circumstances. Yes, that resonated, feeling true.

Circumstances such angelic siblings pitted against each other.

Realization crystalizing, Lucifer acknowledged unexpected guilt dogging his conscience over those splintered relationships.

 _But why should it?_ _They freely chose to follow me_ , the Devil argued around that gnawing self-reproach. And, according to Amenadiel during soggy, perspiring visits, many of their brethren were now choosing their own paths. Did he bear responsibility for the war? Absolutely. That was indisputable. But his brothers and sisters followed of their own free will.

 _Ah!_ There it was, in all its guilt-and-trepidation-wrapped glory. Hell’s king exulted, realization erupting as that warped kernel fully split.

_WHOOSH!_

Unbridled energy pulsed, toppling sculptures and knickknacks throughout the penthouse as rattling windows bowed, straining metal frames. The fiery, Devil-shaped tornado in the room quickly ballooned … 

“ _LUCIFER!!_ ”

… and, just as quickly, towering, virulent flames instantly fizzled, leaving a googly-eyed pre-teen crouched behind the couch, encased in a shimmering protective shield, and an astounded glowing angel, lustrous white wings spread out, refracting shafts of afternoon light across the now quiet suite.

“That. Was,” a deep, inhaled breath, “AWESOME!”

Trixie jumped up from her crouch as the shield dissolved, astonished peals keeping time with enthusiastic jumps.

“ _Omigod!_ That was _sooo_ cool! Can you do it again? Your wings are amazing!” Dashing around the couch, she screeched to a halt in front of him. “Was that an existential crisis? It felt like an existential crisis.”

“Well, I’m the Devil so of course it was cool, yes I can, and thank you! They _are_ rather divine, aren’t they?” Lucifer replied, pulling his wings in a little tighter before more ancient, priceless artifacts were destroyed. Straightening and buttoning his jacket, he added, “Regarding the existential crisis, I’m fairly certain that was more of an existential revelation.”

“So what did you learn?”

“ _Hmm?_ ” Mind reeling with new possibilities, Hell’s king temporized. “Honestly, I’d prefer sorting out a few things out before sharing, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” she conceded.

“Here.” A hand extended towards the girl. “Let’s get you back to your friend’s house.”

Trixie grabbed her backpack from the couch, then stopped, young brow wrinkling. “Wait.” Shrugging on the pack, she asked, “You’re not leaving again, are you?”

“What? Of course not. At least, not permanently. Several issues need resolving before my Earthly return,” Lucifer explained, hand beckoning. “Come on! Let’s get a wiggle on. I’ve endless options to consider and a kingdom to settle.”

As she crowded closer, he asked, “How would you feel about a short flight? I’d need to carry you, if there’s no objection.”

“ _Really?!”_ Eyebrows climbed into her hair. _“_ That’d be fantastic!” An ear-to-ear grin shone. “And no, I don’t mind.”

“Lovely!” Lucifer scooped her up and strode towards the balcony as she relayed the address. Once outside he paused a few seconds, thoroughly appreciating the ashless blue sky, then spread his wings and launched, smiling as Trixie’s excited whoop rang out.

A giddy, expansive feeling unlike any other swept his being while breezing through several lazy loops, showing off a bit for the girl.

 _So this what freedom feels like_ , he marveled, buoyant with optimism, laughing right along with Trixie’s gleeful shrieks.

“This is _fantastic,_ Lucifer! But everyone will see us!” the girl shouted through rushing wind, unconstrained locks wildly flaying along with her ponytail.

“It’s LA, child!” the Devil yelled back. “They’ll just assume it’s for a movie!”

Another easy, spinning corkscrew, then a generous banking turn towards their destination. After dropping off the girl, he’d pop back to Hell for a bit of house-keeping.

 _Just tidying up a few things_ , Hell’s king promised himself. _Shouldn’t take more than a day, tops._ Fortunately, the initial groundwork was well-established, he mused, reviewing the various changes he’d already instigated in the abyss.

 _Really, I’m quite the visionary_ , Lucifer applauded himself. Spotting the correct street address far below, he scanned for a secluded landing spot.

There wasn’t much left to do, the Devil thought, alighting behind a thicket of tall hedges and setting Trixie down. One last hug and wave, then the girl was off, scurrying through the greenery and up to her friend’s house.

Launching skyward again, he assembled a mental task list while rocketing along, rapidly gaining altitude. Only several truly important things remained, the rest was just details.

Lucifer ticked off items, aiming a devilish grin and jaunty salute at a couple gaping airline passengers, noses smashed against tiny windows.

Ensuring Hell stayed the course, establishing a leadership protocol, figuring out Michael’s plan, hiring a contractor to repaint his sadly charred penthouse ceiling, flaunting well-deserved triumph in Amenadiel’s face, apologizing to Maze or she’d kill him, and getting acquainted with Charlie, he decided while skimming the atmosphere’s edge, all made the list.

 _Hmm_. Lips pursed, he suddenly realized this checklist might possibly surpass his self-declared timeline. _Right._ _Two days_ , _then,_ the Devil deemed, idly circling the brilliant, blue-and-green enrobed globe.

Two days, then off to the uncharted!

 _Ah_. He almost left out co-authoring a book with Dr. Linda.

 _“Satan’s Psyche”. No wait! “Therapy for the Devil”._ Lucifer brainstormed titles, leisurely gliding back down through layers of atmosphere until hitting limpid California skies.

A chat with dear old Dad was also definitely in order, he supposed, a put-upon sigh escaping as he reoriented towards Hell.

And there was one final, critically important item to round out his list – facing the Detective. 

Lucifer brightened again, having saved that best for last.

 _The hard part’s over_ , the Devil cheerfully decreed, spirits light. What could possibly go wrong?


	9. Chapter 9

“So, what do you think?”

Ella opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it, not quite sure what to think.

_Zombies, maybe?_

“I mean, this is completely crazy, right?”

 _Nah_. Ella cocked her head, only half listening, absently tapping a pen against her cheek. _Can’t be zombies_ , she reasoned, still tapping away, ponytail swishing as sneakered feet swiveled her back-and-forth on the lab stool.

Well, she was _pretty_ sure it wasn’t zombies. After all, there were no reports of anyone getting eaten recently … that she knew of, at least.

“ _Right?_ It’s totally crazy.”

 _Wraiths?_ A headshake immediately dismissed that idea. Wraiths were incorporeal in most lore they’d researched. Plus, she personally examined the very real, very _corporeal_ , very twice dead, uh … _whatever_ they were.

Ella opened her mouth again, then abruptly closed it. Again.

_Ghosts, maybe?_

Although incorporeal, out of all the mythical, paranormal and supernatural – or ‘woo woo’ as Dan derisively called it - research they’d done recently, ghosts were the only entities she knew for a fact actually existed.

 _Oooo!_ Distracted pen-tapping and stool-swiveling sharply stopped. _Could be ghost possessions!_

“Come on. It’s _got_ to be crazy!”

 _No, no, no._ Ella flushed, a twinge of disloyal guilt rising. _Just because they’re ghosts,_ she argued _, doesn’t mean they want to possess anyone_.

 _No ghost stereotyping!_ A firm self-reprimand, then swiveling resumed, along with the unconscious pen-tapping.

Besides, Rae Rae would’ve said something about it.

“ _Please_ tell me forensics proves this is crazy.”

Her childhood ghost friend didn’t like talking about the spirit world, but _surely_ Rae Rae would have warned her about possessions at some point. So she could at least protect herself, if nothing else. You know, just in case.

“Ella? What do you _think?_ ”

What _did_ she think?

When she and Dan stumbled down this rabbit hole seeking the ‘unusual’ in hopes of unearthing Lucifer, it never occurred to her that they might actually uncover, well, the _unusual_.

As in the real, honest-to-god ‘woo woo’ kind.

She eyed an exasperated Dan, pacing back and forth across her lab, long sleeves of his wrinkled blue crewneck pushed up to his elbows.

 _Aww. Poor Dan We should’ve wrapped up hours ago_. Thanks to a long night of after-hours research, he definitely looked worse for wear.

 _Poor me, too._ Man, she was tired! Ella stifled a yawn mid-swivel, pretty sure she looked no better at three in the morning in her “Iced Tee” shirt, sporting a little pink T-shirt frozen in an ice cube while floating in an iced tea.

“Ella? Are you listening?”

Having scrounged through case files, EMT and hospital records, forensic records, coroner’s reports, family and witness statements, and gobs of scribbled notes on every possible discrepancy or sticking point she and Dan uncovered, she could _definitely_ say she had absolutely _no clue_ how the three _whatever-_ they-were bodies managed to die once, resurrect, then die again days later.

No decomposition, no sneaky think-they’re-dead-but-not-really secret drugs in their systems, no mutated viruses, no goopy alien substances, no life-sucking parasites, no evil twins or clones … that they knew of, at any rate.

Dead one day, then – _Bam!_ – alive the next, then – _Bam!_ – dead again.

So what did she think?

_We’re sooo screwed!_

‘Cuz if the dead started coming back like this without any scientific explanation, then it was totally Apocalypse time. With a capital “A”.

Looming, cataclysmic doom aside, at least they were on the right ‘woo woo’ track. Turns out, witnesses described eerily similar tales.

The bodies-that-were-formerly-normal people manhandled by dead-eyed goons into what was starting to look like pre-determined positions, yelling deranged things like “Where’s Heaven?! I was _just_ there!”, “ _NO!_ No more hell loops! I made it upstairs, damn it!”, “Seventy years of therapy in Hell for _this?_ ” “ _Shit!_ This isn’t my body! Where’s my body?!”

And most tellingly of all, according to witnesses, every one of those formerly normal people desperately cried out for the Devil, then fell into a weirdly silent stupor, then died. Again.

 _Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap_.

She was devoutly Catholic, but darned if she could figure out a way Heaven and Hell factored into these bizarre cases. With religion – or maybe whacked out Satanists – threading these deaths together, she and Dan needed a level-headed sounding board.

“ _Ella!_ ”

“Huh?” Ella blinked. Absentminded swiveling and incessant tapping stopped. “Oh! Right. Sorry, Dan.”

“What do I think?” Ella absently fingered the small gold cross around her neck.

 _An expert_ , a decided nod affirmed. _We totally need a biblical expert._ Ella swung her stool to face a tired, red-eyed Dan.

“I think we really need to talk to Amenadiel.”

**********

“Malisquedair.”

Squee froze, shock zapping every cell in his rangy frame.

 _What the fuck?!_ Hands curled tightly around the leather harness tethering the growling, stamping hell beast he had just saddled. _This can’t be happening_ , argued the tiny part of Squee’s mind that wasn’t completely stupefied.

That ancient voice, reeking of everything wrong with Hell, caught him off-guard at the worst possible moment.

 _I can’t miss this deadline! I’ve come too far to lose now._ White-knuckled grip tightening further, daggered fingernails pierced the sturdy black harness, drawing blood from the small, pointed indents on the fleshy part of his palms. Blood-smeared hands involuntarily jerked hard.

The huge, gleaming beast tossed its shaggy, maned head, roaring displeasure at such harsh treatment. Dancing sideways on volcanic ground, sinuous scaled tail wildly lashing, it jarred the shock right out of Squee, forcing a frantic, undignified scramble to protect his feet.

Cursing under his breath, the demon nimbly dodged flaying hooves, fighting the skittish beast back under control with several hard yanks on its bridle and flowing violet-tipped, rose-gold mane. Steel-toed boots or not, those thick, massive hooves could easily slice clean through, shearing flesh and bone.

“Malisquedair.”

It was much harder to dodge the past at his back.

Hazel eyes narrowed, Squee gritted his teeth as that steady, resonant voice crossed the otherwise empty, rocky paddock hemming the edges of this quadrant’s agricultural district. He refused to turn and look, unwilling to cede anything left of the upper hand utter shock had fried right out of him.

Besides, he’d always _hated_ that name.

Just as much as he hated the one who’d bestowed it.

 _Damn it! Why now??_ Frustration clawed his gut as the beast reluctantly settled down, each snort spewing iridescent sparks from huffing nostrils.

 _Michael_. Squee seethed, grinding his back teeth as corded neck muscles vibrated tension. It had to be Michael. There was no other Hell-based reason for a surprise visit from Heaven’s number one lackey.

How _dare_ that arrogant peacock meddle with his Hell-laid plans!

Jaw clenched, Squee swallowed a threatening flood of anger. They were so close to completion of their plan, where those celestial stuffed shirts would get what they desired – a sidelined pain-in-the-ass Devil - while he, Squee, would get what he deserved.

 _No_. Squee shook his head. That wasn’t completely right. A tight, hard smile crossed angular features.

No, he _and_ Hell would get what _they_ deserved – exquisitely gory, deliciously sinister, gleefully petrifying glory days reborn. Where the damned cowered and demons raged. Where chaos, torture, fear and unimaginable horrors reigned supreme. Where blood ran thick through cells and streets while torn entrails, dotted with cranial matter, littered landscapes slick with marrow.

Squee closed his eyes, tension ebbing at those delightfully soothing thoughts.

“ _Malisquedair_.” A sharp crack of authority now edged that vile, confident voice. It was nearly upon him now.

Squee forced himself to relax. There was no reason to suspect anyone, even his handpicked demonic cohorts, knew his true intention.

One blood-smeared hand maintained a grasp on his restless mount’s bridle, the other unobtrusively brushed the front pocket of his black jeans. Reassured that the item hastily snagged from the king’s suite was still safely tucked within, he slowly turned to face Heaven’s formidable main troubleshooter.

“Hello, Mother.”

**********

Crossing the wide paddock, Lilith calmly eyed her angry, plotting son, complex, long-denied feelings uncomfortably trickling through her near-immortal being.

 _Not now_ , self-reproach tamped that ill-timed flow. At the moment, introspection and lapsed familial relationships would cramp her deadly style. Heaven, Hell and Earth couldn’t afford that right now. Hidden machinations were in the works, and the First Human was determined to make sure innocents weren’t caught in celestial-demonic crossfire.

Plus, surreptitiously helping the Devil sniff out his twin’s true motivations would invariably rankle Michael. Provided, of course, she could dig up demonic co-conspirators without ratting them out to the Devil.

 _Now that’s what I call a win-win_.

 _Honestly though,_ a head cocked and lips pursed as Heaven’s number one troubleshooter debated, _Lucifer probably already knows_. After all, the Devil literally wrote the proverbial book on Machiavellian intrigues.

 _No matter_ , a mental shrug allowed. Throughout the centuries she and Lucifer maintained a good relationship – a word from her carried weight.

And from all the tidbits she’d threatened, mom-guilted and blatantly terrified out of her descendants, there was no doubt her son would definitely need a good word dropped in the Devil’s ear.

“You look surprised, Malisquedair.” Radiating tension telegraphed shock. Good. Caught off-guard, plot points should more easily slither past slackened tongues.

Malisquedair was practically spitting malice. Grasping the huffing, fidgeting hell beast – a gorgeous, multicolored chimera in this case - her son shook a fallen copper lock from narrowed, calculating eyes.

“It’s Squee now,” he ground out, then yipped, a lashing hoof knocking him off balance.

 _Squee? Seriously??_ Stifling a snort, Lilith swept an unreadable gaze up and down her flailing, hopping son as he muttered curses at the sleek, impatient chimera.

Like Mazikeen, he was one of her actual children, born of her incredibly fruitful loins, instead of spawning from a seemingly endless stream of interbreeding descendants. Adam and Eve might have populated the Earth but she, Lilith, had populated the blackened abyss.

With a little help from those beasts of the night she tamed eons ago, of course.

 _Not that I had much choice_. There’d been a woeful dearth of sexual partners back then, other than straightlaced Adam, who flatly refused to join her in exploring the enticing new world God created.

A shapely eyebrow arched at heady memories, back when she was a wide-eyed, over-confident innocent eagerly testing her superhuman limits after shucking the Garden of Eden’s cloying grasp.

Those ‘beasts of the night’ preceded humanity as God’s initial, unintentionally ghastly attempts at crafting sentient life on this world. These days most never realized such ‘beasts’ existed, especially with human inclinations towards obliterating evidence, facts, entire histories and whatever else deemed unacceptable by an ever-revolving slew of power-grabbers.

 _Myths and legends_ , Lilith wistfully reminisced, waving off lazily drifting specks of ash. Like other ancient realities, over countless millennia those beasts gradually faded into myths and legends. _Just like me_.

 _It’s better that way_ , the First Human candidly supposed, watching the violent son - now shouting utterly useless commands at the normally docile chimera energetically dragging him around the rocky paddock - who’d gladly rip out her guts given the chance.

Vampires, gorgons, trolls, yeti, wendigos, yokai, goblins, ogres, gargoyles, banshees, cyclopes and countless other soulless creatures God puttered with pre-humanity – including the attractive ghoul that fathered Malisquedair – were better left to blissfully sanitized obscurity.

Their truths were so much more horrifying.

Much like that demon-fathering ghoul. He’d been _so_ charming at first, prior to their delightfully enthusiastic romp in the sack, Lilith absently reflected. She really should have known better, clueless newbie proto-human or not.

 _Charming_ , Lilith ruefully winced at long gone youthful naivety. Sure, he’d been charming, all right. _Right up until he tried to eat me_.

 _It’s a damn good thing I killed him_.

Great sex or not, there was absolutely _no way_ in literal Hell she’d tolerate _anyone_ taking a chomp out of her ass.

And, mothering type or not, there was _no way_ she’d tolerate _anyone_ taking chomps out of her offspring, either.

She eventually ended up killing most of those blood-lusting, pre-humanity, demon-fathering beasts – the bastards ate too many of her children.

 _Damn shame_ , Lilith sighed, crossing her arms as fleeting regret crossed her ancient being. Sadly, regular non-superhuman mortals just couldn’t compare in the sack.

Unfortunately, some beasts eluded her impressive tracking skills. To this day, those nightmares still roamed Earth’s shadowed nooks and crannies. Barring a direct Heavenly request, as long as no gory murder sprees popped up, she pretty much left those remnants alone. And they, likewise, avoided her like every plague in all Creation.

 _My son’s an idiot_ , Lilith decided, shaking off the past as Malisquedair, now desperately clutching reins instead of the bridle, tripped over a rock, then howled as the huge chimera forcefully slammed him into a sturdy fence post. _Why the hell doesn’t he just let go?_

“You know, you _could_ just let go,” Lilith drily pointed out, cringing as the demon smashed into a large boulder while the bucking chimera simply shimmered through it, materializing just off to the side.

 _Yup, totally an idiot_ , the First Human groaned, dismayed at her son’s irrational stubbornness and questionable decision-making skills. Hard to kill or not, if she didn’t jump into the fray Hell would quickly lose another demon … and she’d lose another child.

 _Not on my watch_ , Lilith grimly vowed, wading into angry roars, flying rocks, furious hooves and madly whipping tail.

Ignoring welling emotions, she crouched, waiting for an opening. Once the chimera reared back on powerful haunches, where the enormous goat-like, glittering, purple-tinged black body blended into the metallic green scales of the tail, she zipped in low, dodging mighty kicks. Grabbing fistfuls of black T-shirt, she yanked her downed son away from the rampaging hell beast.

“… _Uhhh_ …”

Dazed eyes struggled for focus as she knelt beside her offspring.

“ _Mom?_ ” Lilith’s heart skipped as confused hazel eyes found her face, all the little demonic children she’d born, ruthlessly trained, then promptly abandoned in Hell shining back up at her.

“I’m here, Malisquedair. You okay?” Somehow, her hand found itself wiping a volcanic smudge off a bronze cheek.

A blink, and confusion vanished. Eyes darkening, he batted away her hand, then smoothly rolled to his feet. Slapping perennially dry, dusty soil from wrinkled clothes, he sneered as she slowly stood back up.

“I told you, it’s Squee,” he growled. “Whatever you’re here for, whatever you’re trying to accomplish, _forget it_ , Mother. You and the Devil, just a couple of _useless_ ancient relics!” Voice hotly rising, Malisquedair leaned in closer, anger and saliva practically spraying her face. “Well, we don’t _need_ you down here! _None_ of us need you down here! _I_ don’t need you down here!”

Turning, the demon strode back to the chimera, now calm and happily chuffing at a swarm of rat-sized, venomous basilisks clucking about its feet.

Grabbing the reins, then the worn gray saddle, he swung onto the towering mount, scattering the squawking, indignant basilisks. Reins gathered tight, her son spun the beast about, facing her once more.

“Oh, and tell that asshat micromanager _Michael_ ,” he spat the name, “to go fuck himself! I’ll do my part as long as he does his.”

With that and a firm kick in the flanks, her scheming demonic offspring disappeared, shimmering off in a whirl of rainbow sparks.

 _Well crap_ , Lilith swore, hands on her hips, frowning. _What a total clusterfuck._ Not only did she not learn anything new, but apparently, she wasn’t as devoid of maternal instincts as she thought.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , the First Human reasoned. She still had a job to do, damn it. She’d head over to Operations, rattle her intimidating sword and see what shook loose.

Plus, surefire instincts honed over eons urgently pinged, warning that whatever the devious plan entailed, it would culminate soon. _Very_ soon.

And Malisquedair was definitely leading the charge.


	10. Chapter 10

“Wait, Lucifer did _what?!_ ”

Collapsing into her office chair, Linda’s eyebrows shot through her blond hair as Maze made demon faces at a giggling Charlie over on the couch.

“Maze.” Beckoning the demon, she hit the speaker on her smartphone. “Oh, you _have_ to hear this. You’re not going to believe it.”

Maze phased her half-demonic, half-human face back to its usual appearance while Charlie hooted. “Here,” she handed him one of her regular, non-hell-forged blades. “Auntie Maze will be right back.”

“Maze!” Exasperated, Linda pointed at the knife her invulnerable half-angel toddler promptly stuck into his mouth. “ _Really?!_ ”

“What? It’s not like he’ll hurt himself.” Her friend gently removed the blade from Charlie’s mouth, then showed him how to properly hold the handle. “And he should know these things early. You never know when a succubus will try to steal your soul! _Grrrrrrrrrrr!_ ”

Maze clawed her hands and made growly noises while her son howled in laughter.

_Huh. Souls again_ , Linda noted, briefly distracted from the latest Lucifer development. In the past several weeks, the doctor noticed a distinct uptick of her best friend’s off-the-cuff soul references. Something was bedeviling her bestie, something she wasn’t quite ready to share just yet.

_A little more time_ , Linda decided. Maybe Maze needed a while longer to bring up what plagued her. If not, the doctor promised herself, she’d gently raise the issue with her friend.

Another growl and grin at Charlie, then the demon pushed up from the couch and sauntered towards the desk. “So. What did Lucifer do _this_ time?”

“Apparently,” Amenadiel’s warm voice filled her office, “he’s set up therapy groups in Hell, leading to some souls freeing their guilt and ascending into Heaven.”

Linda and Maze both looked up. Standing by the couch, Amenadiel grimaced as he pulled the knife from Charlie’s gnawing mouth.

“Right. Wings.” Linda shook her head, wondering why they even bothered with cell phones.

“If you’re going to teach him weapons,” Amenadiel glanced at Maze, then repositioned Charlie’s hand around the blade’s handle, “at least make sure he knows proper holds.”

“I just _did_ that!” Maze gestured, offended. “It’s not _my_ fault he likes chewing on things. If you ask me, your kid has an oral fixation.” Moving back to the dark gray couch, she plopped down again.

“Seriously, Maze?” A disapproving angel frowned at her over Charlie’s head, clapping protective hands over his son’s ears.

“ _What?_ ” The demon waved at the toddler between them, happily stuffing the hem of his little red T-shirt into his mouth. “See? Oral fixation.” She whipped out another non-hell-forged blade, then started showing Charlie some slashes while Amenadiel grudgingly uncovered tiny ears.

“ _Maze, Maze, Maze, Maze, Maze!_ ” Charlie cried, attempting to mimic her moves with his pudgy, toddler-sized, slobber covered hands.

Watching Charlie’s delighted face, Linda sighed. This was one battle she had gladly forsaken.

Since nearly losing her son to a demon horde last year, she was all for self-defense training. Linda just wished the two main immortals currently in her life had waited until Charlie was at least in pre-K.

_He’s already growing so fast_ , she thought. Maybe too fast.

That merited a serious discussion with Amenadiel. How fast was too fast for an angel? Or rather, half angel. Did Heaven know when he’d stop growing? Or _would_ he even stop? Would her son, invulnerable or not, be the only angel to actually age and _die?_

_Whoa, get a grip_ , Linda cautioned herself. She was a therapist, for goodness sake. This was no time to spiral with what ifs. Charlie was only a year old - they had plenty of time to figure things out.

_Speaking of spiraling_. Linda stared at Amenadiel, now also camped on the couch and correcting Charlie’s enthusiastic, aimless slashes.

“So Lucifer _really_ has therapy groups in Hell?” Linda tried wrapping her brain around that concept. “Wha-He can’t possibly be _leading_ these groups! He’s a hot mess!”

Amenadiel looked up. “Oh, no. He’s not leading them,” he chuckled. “I think we agree that’d be a complete _disaster_. No, Lucifer pulled scores of damned therapists from their hell loops, and they’re the ones leading the sessions. According to a few of those newly ascended souls I just met in Heaven, he even actively joins one of his favorite groups, too.”

“Huh. Well, that’s … that’s _great_ ,” Linda stammered, blindsided. “It’s, uh, really great … that he’s found _another_ therapist to work with … in Hell. Wow, that’s just … _so_ great _._ ” 

Disgruntled, fingers distractedly drumming the desk, Linda muttered, “I mean, it’s not like we’ve worked together for _years_ or anything … _Ha!_ Seriously, how much trouble could it be to just pop back up here for a few sessions??”

Looking up, she forced a bright smile. “You know what? That doesn’t matter! This is about _him_ , not me. And it’s just … _great_ he felt he could open up to someone else … you know … in _Hell_.” 

“Hey! He dumped you, too, huh?” Maze crowed from the couch. “Welcome to the club!”

“Maze, he did _not_ dump me,” Linda frowned, definitely feeling a teensy bit dumped. “He’s in Hell, we’re here. It’s a matter of logistics. And I’m actually _happy_ he chose to continue working on himself. That’s a _good_ thing we should support.”

“So we can forget our ‘backup’ plan since he’s in therapy, right?” Maze asked, phasing into her demonic face and sticking her tongue out at Charlie, who was stabbing his dad’s leg to no effect.

Wait. What _was_ that? Linda reached under black-rimmed glasses and rubbed her eyes. For a split second there, she thought Maze and Charlie glowed.

“Oh no, the plan’s still on. He’s-what did you call it, Linda? A hot mess?” Amenadiel mournfully shook his head. “You should’ve seen him. Stained shirt, messy hair, I’m pretty sure he had mismatched socks. _Oh!_ ” He snapped his fingers. “And worst of all, _no pocket square!_ Can you imagine?! None at all!” Another sad shake. “I’m telling you, he’s _definitely_ spiraling.”

“Did you guys see that?” Maze and Amenadiel looked at her.

“See what?” the angel asked. He turned towards Maze. “What did you do?”

“ _Me?!_ _You_ were right here! I didn’t _do_ anything,” the demon argued, then faced her friend. “What did you see, Linda?”

“Uh, I thought I saw-you know what?” Linda backtracked, feeling foolish. _And now_ _I’m seeing things_ , she sighed, promising herself a nice _long_ , immortal-free weekend away once the Devil drama was done. “Nevermind. It’s been a long day. Let’s get back to Lucifer, shall we?”

The two ancient beings eyed her for a moment, shrugged, then resumed playing with Charlie.

“So, Lucifer created therapy groups in Hell,” Linda slowly began, “and _now_ formerly damned souls are ascending into Heaven … and _he’s_ still stuck in Hell.”

_Yup, he’s totally spinning out_. _And hurting_ , she empathized. Amenadiel was right. Knowing the Devil, that situation was ripe for majorly conflicted, tumultuous feelings.

The doctor in her began piecing together hypotheticals of what Lucifer might be experiencing. Of course, she wouldn’t know for sure until they lured him up here.

_New therapist my ass_ , Linda grumbled, still miffed. The Devil was _her_ prized patient, damn it, and they were going to help him come home.

_And he definitely did_ not _dump me!_

“Guys, I think I have a pretty good inkling of what might be going on with him. I think it’s time. Amenadiel? Call in our backup.”

**********

“Chloe.”

“ _Oww! Detective?!_ ” Satisfaction coursed as Chloe watched the Devil stumble back, whip out a red pocket square and staunch the oh-so-gratifying blood trickling from his perfect nose. “ _Believe me, I’m all for a bit of role play, but warn a Devil first!_ ”

She shook out her right hand. Sore, but _totally_ worth.

“Chloe?”

She stepped in close, bodies and faces now barely inches apart. _Those eyes_. A sigh escaped. She could easily, recklessly fall forever into those dark, magnetic pools. “ _Detective?_ ” A soft, husky question hovered on the Devil’s lips, radiating through his being. _Yes_ , she whispered, closing that maddening gap of inches, _a thousand times yes!_ Long denied lips finally, _gloriously_ melted together, passion overta _-_

_“Decker!_ ” Ella cocked her head, expressive brows drawing together. She turned, facing her companion. “I don’t think she’s in Kansas anymore, Dan. _”_

“No, no. I’m listening,” Chloe insisted, snapping out of an ever-changing daydream of imagined, Devil-filled reunions. “Uh huh. Yup. _Totally_ listening.”

At this point, she was pretty sure she’d either punch him, or kiss him. It was still a tossup.

_Better figure it out soon, Decker_. Their plan was set for this evening at Lux, and despite contrary reassurances to Linda, Amenadiel and Maze, a twitchy swarm of crickets spasmodically skipping from stomach to chest warned she was definitely not fine.

_It’s just nerves. That’s all_ , Chloe reasoned, crossing her arms over a gray utility jacket while attempting to tamp a restless, jumpy gut. It _absolutely_ wasn’t fears of being forgotten nor of a pesky, all-too-brief human life span measured against immortality.

_Yup, definitely nerves_. _Don’t overthink this, Decker_ , she insisted. Nerves after a year apart – and who knows _how_ long in Hell years – were perfectly normal. _Right?_

Besides, there’d be plenty of time for relationship-crippling fears later if tonight’s endeavor succeeded.

Still, a brief chat with Linda might help before the gang got together this evening. At this point, it certainly couldn’t hurt.

Decision made, Chloe cleared her throat, refocusing Ella and Dan. “So. What’s up?”

They glanced at each other, then back at her.

“Well, it’s probably nothing,” Dan began, then Ella quickly cut in, concern shining in her eyes. “Have you heard from Amenadiel? Is he okay?”

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of him since yesterday,” Dan explained, “and, well, you know Amenadiel. He’s _extremely_ conscientious. I mean, he usually gets back to you right away. But we haven’t heard back from him yet.” 

“And since Lucifer left around this time last year,” Ella briefly hesitated, “we wondered if something else happened …”

“… that would cause his brother to leave as well,” Chloe finished Ella’s sentence. Torn over their very really worry, she again debated telling them the truth.

_Honestly, what’s the harm?_ Chloe mused. After all, if anything demonic or immortal-related ever cropped up again, the more trusted hands in the know, the better.

Granted, knowing Heaven and Hell truly exist - and that their dapper civilian consultant really _is_ the one and only Devil – might initially throw them off, but Chloe was confident Dan and Ella could handle it.

Well, fairly confident, at least. True acceptance of celestial realities might have taken her longer than she cared to admit, but it only took Linda a week.

_They might handle it as well as Linda_ , Chloe reflected, optimistic. _Then again_ , optimism deflated with a mental grimace, _they might not_. Unfortunately, there was no predicting anyone’s reaction to such mind-blowing news.

Regardless, deflecting her friends from the celestial aspects of her life was getting harder and harder.

Hands on his hips, Dan glanced around the precinct, then took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Chloe, you’re closer to him than I am. Do you know why Amenadiel’s not answering? Is there anything we should know about?”

Guilt tugged at her in the face of their obvious concern. Especially Dan’s. He and Amenadiel had become good friends these past few years. Keeping him in the dark wasn’t fair.

“The three of us could swing by Lux and make sure he’s okay,” Ella suggested. “You know, just in case.”

_Uh oh._

“Um, I think he’s busy tonight,” Chloe thought fast. “He said something about, uh, a private party when I talked to him the other day,” she continued, sidestepping the event’s true purpose. “But this is Amenadiel, guys. If he’s temporarily gone dark, you _know_ he must have a good reason.”

“Right,” Dan nodded, looking thoughtful. “You’re right, Chloe. He’s definitely not Lucifer, that’s for sure.”

“I know, right?” Chloe breathed a silent, relieved sigh. “Anyway, if I see him before you do, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

_Dan deserves to know._ Guilt eased a little as new resolve coalesced. _They both do_. She’d broach the topic of bringing Dan and Ella into the fold with Amenadiel tomorrow.

Tonight, however, was for coaxing back the Devil.

**********

“What do you mean ‘ _they’re back’?!_ ”

Incredulous, Lucifer eyed the six-hundred-sixty-sixth floor’s Operations crew magically redouble their overly keen focus on monitors, servers, computers, sensors, communications arrays, and other equipment blanketing every inch of Hell’s gigantic control center, quite studiously doing everything possible to avoid his currently agitated, slightly sparky attention.

Even the floor’s pet basilisk took one look, squawked, then bolted under a nearby supply closet.

Standing next to him, barely reaching mid-thigh height, Gally blew a put-upon sigh. Batting out a random spark that had settled on his bald head, he frowned over round, wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m not sure I understand the problem, my lord. Isn’t Marketing running a betting pool for just such occasions?”

“Well, yes,” Lucifer sputtered, “but-“

“And didn’t you put yourself down for two Earth years?”

“Well, _yes_ , but-“

“So what, exactly, is the problem?” Black demonic eyes quizzically starred up at him.

“The _problem??_ ” Bristling, Lucifer flung his arms wide, shedding tiny sparks across the black-marbled floor. “You mean, _other_ than my brilliant therapy project rather suddenly failing miserably?”

Gally grimaced, shifting taloned feet. “Ah, yes. There is that.” He pulled off his glasses, absently wiped them on his long-sleeved purple shirt, then put them back on. “Although, failing miserably might be an overstatement, my lord. At this point, several dozen formerly damned souls have ascended, yet so far only _three_ have bounced back. That’s hardly a failure.”

“ _Hmm_. Yes, that’s true, I suppose.” Slightly mollified, the no-longer-sparking King of Hell conceded the point, slipping hands into midnight blue trouser pockets.

The usual hum – plus basilisk clucks - of Hell’s well-oiled operations, honed over countless eons, resumed as the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

_But why?_ Once they graced the Silver City, the formerly guilt-laden, damned souls should have been utterly free of their burdens. There should be _no more guilt_ dragging them back to Hell.

Eyes narrowed, speculation churned as Lucifer pondered a moment, then asked, “Don’t you find it extremely _odd_ that a batch of our ascended souls popped back down here all at once?” He glanced down at his assistant. “We have odds on that, don’t we?”

“Of course, my lord,” Gally waved over one of the techs manning a station forecasting souls guilt ratios over time, factoring in severity of guilt, hell loop aggregates, length of time in therapy, and then plotting odds of relapse after Heavenly ascension.

The tech, in business casual attire and sensible work heels, trotted over and handed Lucifer a tablet with the pertinent data. “Thank you, Amayara.”

“You’re welcome, my lord.”

_Bugger!_ The tech returned to her station while the King of Hell grunted, thoroughly annoyed as he scanned pages of data. One minute he was happily whistling along, prepping Hell for his imminent departure, then – _Wham!_ – happy mood rudely squished by ungrateful souls refusing to stay saved.

It was enough to drive a Devil mad.

Although, in all honesty, Lucifer reflected, his non-murdery souls had been truly grateful. And who wouldn’t be? After all, thanks to his pet project, those souls accomplished the formerly impossible - escaping Hell. In therapy, they’d worked through their issues for decades, slogging through long, hard self-reflections, ultimately finding their truths and achieving joyous, guilt-free peace.

They didn’t deserve being cast from the Silver City. They had worked too damned hard.

“Gally, call up all the information we’ve got on those souls. And get someone to interview them personally. Only a heavily guilty conscience upon death would send them back here. I want to know exactly what happened after they ascended, how and why they died again, and who the _bloody hell_ they consorted with in Heaven.”

“Hang on. Is Lilith still here? She’s perfect for this. Baphomet,” Lucifer paused skimming data, and nodded at a slender, bookish demon stuffing a powdered donut into his mouth while raiding the supply closet. “Find out, would you? It shouldn’t be too difficult, just follow all the terrified, demonic screams.”

“ _Thes, mu lud_.” Powdered sugar spewed as the demon scurried off, post-it packs, metacarpal bones, a few flash drives, and a jar of eyeballs toppling from the mountain of supplies in his arms. “ _Rut avay._ ”

_Well, well. The odds were definitely in their favor._ Lucifer swiped the tablet’s screen, zooming in on the relevant statistics, then handed it down to his assistant. “Have a look at that. Tell me, what do you think?”

According to forecasting, infinitesimally approaching zero to, well, _zero_ were the odds of multiple souls, who ascended during varying decades of therapy, crashing back to Hell in one fell swoop.

Gally peered at the screen, befuddled. “I don’t understand, my lord. This,” a claw tapped the data, “doesn’t make any sense. If this is correct, why are those souls back? What does it mean?”

“It means someone’s playing games in Heaven, Gally,” Lucifer growled, eyes flashing a violent crimson. “And when I find out who’s toying with innocent souls, who’s toying with _ME_ ,” the handsome, elegant Devil vanished, and a blood-red nightmare loomed, “ _they will_ _PAY_.”


End file.
